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Now before you judge, for all I knew Rob had been sandbagging me as well. He hadn’t, and I knew he hadn’t, but my father taught me to size up my opponent rather than go all-out from the beginning.
Rob played well, very well in fact, but he was off-balance and ill-prepared for my style that first day. I ran him ragged – left, right, left, right, till he anticipated a shift to the left and I hit a sudden right with an outside spin. I massacred him.
We were both drenched in perspiration and parched by the time he eventually relented. We had played first best of three, then best of five. I don’t recall the scores, but I didn’t skunk him. He played well; I just bested him that day. Funny thing about me is, it’s not important that I continue to beat someone. I just like knowing I did it once. I have no further need to prove anything after that, generally speaking.
Rob offered to treat me to lunch at Wendy’s, which at the time was new in our area and I’d never eaten there, and afterward we would go swimming. I always kept a swim suit in my car back then during the summer, because I loved to swim.
Once we waited out the long lunch line in Wendy’s and reached the counter, I realized I hadn’t paid attention to the menu and had no clue what was available. As I scanned the board, the counter girl asked Rob for his order.
“Two triple cheeseburgers with everything; two large fries; two large Cokes; and two Frosties,” he said, voice booming in that deep baritone he had.
I was offended. How dare he presume to order for me? Who died and made him king? What made him think he knew me well enough to decide I wanted “everything” on my sandwich – or that I even liked cheese? And what the hell was a Frosty anyway?
Then he turned to me and said, “What would you like?”