"What will you do," she will ask baitingly, "if I come home with a Black boyfriend?"
This is a peculiarly ingenious stroke of hers that requires lightning dexterity tq counter and with which she does succeed in confounding and vanquishing my wife. There is no way out, and I am tempted to award her accolades: if I tell her I'd object, I'm a racist; if I tell her I wouldn't, I have no regard for her. My wife succumbs by taking her seriously. I survive by skirting the trap.
"I would still ask you to clean up your room," I reply nimbly. "And to stop reading my mail and showing my bank statements to your friends."
Of course I'm a racist! And so is she. Who the devil isn't?
"That's not answering the question," she is intelligent enough to sulk. "And you know it."
"Bring one home and see," I challenge her with a snicker, because I know she is not ready to try that one on us yet.
EXCERPT FROM
Heller, Joseph. "SOMETHING HAPPENED." A Dell Book, 2011-09-01. iBooks.
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