"Your mother says you're seeing that George character again," Dad said with a scowl on his face. "Is he still doing all that drinking and drugs?"
"I only see him at his work," I said defensively.
I had told mom yesterday jokingly that George was going to get me hookers and beer, and we were going to throw a party. I was jesting; making small talk.
"George is like valet parking for the underworld of Andrew-ville," I told mom. "He can get you everything and anything."
It was actually rather sad that I was boasting about having a friend with such connections, and that was what I was doing: boasting. I then berated mom for telling dad that, and then felt like a total schmuck.
"I promise you I am not going to turn into an alkie again," I reassured mom.
Geez, my life can get exponentially complicated at the drop of a hat.