By Scott Mahon
Commentary

My wife and I drove out to Skooter and Flo’s house to watch the Super Bowl game Sunday.

Skooter and me were watching the game in the living room.

My wife and Flo were in the kitchen chit-chattin and cooking.

Like most married people, Skooter and Flo have photos all over the house; photos of their kids, grandkids, etc.

I noticed one particular photo of a very attractive young woman.

“Who’s that?” I asked.

“That’s Flo,” he said. “Probably 22 years old.”

“She was a good looking girl!” I exclaimed.

“Yep,” Skooter said, and spit a wad of Redman tobacco juice in a coffee can. “Best lookin’ girl in Comal County.”

Skooter and I have been friends for a long time, but there’s a lot I still don’t know about him.

“How long you and Flo been married?” I asked.

“Fifty-two years!” he said. “Seems like a 100 years.”

I don’t really know how old Flo and Skooter are. I never asked.

I know Flo goes to the beauty parlor every week; they dye her hair purple.

Skooter isn’t the best looking guy in the world.

Most of his hair is gone.

He wears dentures that don’t fit.

Also, he hasn’t held a steady job since 1982.

“Fifty-two years!” Skooter said again. “Men and women ain’t suppose to live with each other that long. It’s not right.”

Then he leaned over in his chair toward me.

“She’s half-blind now,” he whispered. “Can’t hear anything either; deaf as a post.”

Sometime I don’t know if Skooter’s serious, or joking.

He leaned over again.

“You know I wouldn’t a married her if I’d known she was gonna turn out like this,” he said, dead-pan serious.

After dinner and the game was over, my wife and I said good-bye to Skooter and Flo.

Skooter walked us to the front door.

I noticed something sticking out of his shirt pocket.

He saw me looking.

He reached in his shirt pocket, pulled out two tickets to the Senior Center’s Valentine’s dance and winked.

“Still the best lookin’ girl in Comal County,” he said, with a twinkle in his eyes.