she right? I’m guessing she is if she had to tell you that.”
Grandma Joyce pointed to the radio. “See right there? He’s intuitive and knows how to dig deep and get the info before he dispenses the advice.”
I rolled my eyes. “The only thing he dispenses comes from the back end of a bull.”
She put her finger to her lips again. “Shhh!”
“I have no idea if I do enough for her,” the caller said. “I think I do.”
“Well, there’s one of your problems right there if you don’t know,” Dr. Tough Love pointed out.
“How do I even measure how much is enough? I do lots of things for her.”
“Yes, but do you do the right things? What one woman wants may be different from what another woman wants.”
The caller sighed. “I’m so confused.”
“Welcome to the club, my friend. A woman is like a complex puzzle. Just when you think you have her all figured out, you notice there’s a piece missing.”
Grandma Joyce gestured to the radio with her head. “That’s what I’m talking about. The man gets us.”
I shook my head. “He gets on my nerves.”
Dr. Tough Love chuckled. “If you’re open to taking care of her needs, whatever they may be, anything at all, then it’s an easy fix. Have you tried asking her what you could do to make her happy?”
“Yes! When I asked her she said I should know!”
Dr. Tough Love sighed. “Men aren’t mind-readers, you know.”
I jumped to my feet and pointed to the radio. “I knew that annoying voice sounded familiar! It’s him!”
Startled from my outburst, Grandma Joyce flipped one of the pancakes onto the counter. “What are you talking about?” She picked up the errant pancake with her fingers and slapped it back on the griddle.
I jabbed my finger in the direction of the radio. “Dr. Tough Love. I met him at Peet’s Coffee before I went into the radio station and got canned. He’s the guy who stole my parking spot. And let me tell you he’s just as annoying in person as he is on the radio.”
“I thought you said the man bought you a mocha. How is that annoying? Sounds very sweet to me.”
I hesitated. “Well . . . yeah . . . he did get me a mocha, but—”
“I can’t believe you met Dr. Tough Love. Oh, I am so jealous! Did you get his autograph?”
“No, Grandma Joyce, I did not get his autograph.”
“Your loss. Is he as gorgeous in person as he looks on those billboards?”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“It’s self-explanatory.”
“Your HTTR is out of order.”
I gave her a look, afraid to ask. “What’s an HTTR?”
“Your hot-to-trot radar.”
I laughed. “Where do you get these things from?”
“I watch late night TV. Anyhow, my point is that Dr. Tough Love is hot to trot! Do you think he would go for a woman twenty years older?”
I arched an eyebrow.
“Okay, maybe thirty years older. Thirty-five, but that’s my final offer.”
“You need to know how to read the room,” Dr. Tough Love continued. “Women always give visual clues to indicate their moods. For instance, I went to Peet’s Coffee last night and a woman was trying to steal my parking spot.”
“I was there first!” I yelled at the radio.
Please don’t talk about me when I can’t defend myself.
“She said we could compare whose day was more horrible and the winner gets the spot. Then she started coming up with all these lame excuses of why she was having a bad day and needed that parking spot.”
“They weren’t lame, mister!” I wished he was there with us so I could properly throttle him.
“I don’t even remember them all,” Dr. Tough Love went on. “I think one excuse was that she broke a nail and her pedicurist canceled her appointment.”
I pointed to my head. “It was my hair stylist not my nails, you baboon.”
Grandma Joyce leaned forward and inspected my hair. “Do you want to see the person who does my hair? I could probably get you in today, if I bring her a piece of my world-famous Bundt cake.”
I shook my head. “That’s quite all right.”
Her hair stylist specialized in hairdos for mature women. Don’t get me wrong, Grandma Joyce was rocking her hair like nobody’s business, but I wouldn’t be ready to join the Blue-Haired Ladies Club for a few decades, at least. I had a problem with the word ma’am, so it shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone.
“Anyway, so this woman, Lori was her name . . .”
Grandma Joyce turned to me.