I asked my 17-year-old one innocent question, "Whose glasses are these?"
I pointed to the black-framed glasses laying on the counter.
"They're my fake glasses," he said.
"Why do you need fake glasses?" I asked. He has real glasses that look very similar, but he usually wears his contacts.
"It was poker night," he said.
Was that supposed to make sense?
"That's why I shaved my beard and left my mustache last night. Then I wore the glasses for poker night."
I looked at his clean-shaven face. I'm not sure if the answers provided any more clarity.
Was it some sort of 70s poker night where they dressed in short-sleeved plaid shirts with pocket protectors, thick mustaches and glasses? Some sort of Will Farrell parody?
I'll never know.
"Did you win?" I asked.
"Oh, no. I lost bad," he said.
"Did you play for money?" I asked, suddenly worried.
"Nah, it was a dollar maximum. We played with chips."
And that was the night of a 17-year-old when his high school football team is not doing so well
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