Photo by Chris Hardy on Unsplash
Who the hell is Beau Brummell, anyway? That’s the first thing that I thought as I tore open the wrapping paper. My kids were so excited, part of me even thought about playing along just for their sake. But I caught sight of Carol near the kitchen counter and that was the end of that charade. Her smug look as I ripped the paper, revealing the label on the box, drove me crazy. It was all I could do to keep from getting up and walking out the door forever.
Of course I know Beau Brummell is a brand of ties. The box gave it away as soon as Michael handed it over. That made it all the worse. Not the tie, exactly. Just the fact that they somehow thought this tie was the winner. Like some fancy label would do the trick. Don’t they know me better than that? I can’t blame the children. But Carol? Why did she have to bring the children into all of this?
How is a tie supposed to make me look younger? Or, better yet, feel younger? How could anyone buy such nonsense? Of course Carol wants me to be younger. She’s always going on about how I smoke too much; I eat too much meatloaf; I don’t get out into the fresh air. She says that she does it because she cares––she wants me to live to see my grandkids––but she’s trying to drive me away. She never has that smug look on her face when she’s gazing at Buddy. I see her thousand yard stare out the kitchen window. At first I thought it was typical housewife stuff––she’s bored, she’s thinking too much––but I finally realized that there’s more to it than that.
And get a load of this: I paid for that tie. Carol doesn’t have any money of her own. Not really, anyway. She used my hard-earned money to buy me a Father’s Day gift from my kids––and it’s a gift that slaps me right in the face. How do you like that? A tie that makes me feel younger. Ha! She’s doing this to show me up. Buddy probably put her up to it. She probably asked him what to get me––her pathetic, joke of a husband; that lazy, good-for-nothing-sad-sack––for Father’s Day and he probably said something like, ‘let’s show up your old man,’ and in front of my own kids too! But here’s the rub: Michael and Joan don’t even know that I’m being shown up. They think they’re giving their dear old dad a nice gift that he’s going to love. They can’t read their mother’s smug smile like I can. They don’t know about what’s going on with that swine Buddy. I can’t tell if that makes the whole thing better or worse.
‘Happy Father’s Day, dear,’ she says, with that smile still plastered on her face. Am I smiling or sneering? Thankfully my pipe hides all that. I’m grateful that the children are losing interest in me and my new tie. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. As Michael and Joan walk away, turning their attention to an Erector Set sprawled on the den floor, I glance down at the tie sitting there lonely inside its box. I guess I’ll have to wear it, at least once or twice, before they forget about it. But I’ll tell you one thing: there is no way in hell that I’m going to let Buddy see me in this tie. Even if it means that I take it off the second I leave the house. The thought of Buddy and Carol canoodling and crowing about how they got one over on me. How that poor sap thinks he’s younger in his Beau Brummell tie. No, I won’t give them that satisfaction, I can tell you that much.
Greg Houle is a writer from Los Angeles who enjoys telling stories about people from the past and present--real or imagined. His novel THE PUTNAMS OF SALEM will be published in 2025 by Blydyn Square Books. Follow him on twitter @greghoule
