Papa visits the single girls

From 2001-2002, I shared an apartment in Brooklyn with two of my very single girlfriends. Three bedrooms, just far enough from each other for some privacy. Non-working fireplace, crown molding, on the second floor of an adorable Brooklyn Brownstone. This was the high era of our single days. Dating, dancing, and well, doing it.

Papa lived in Long Island. On Saturdays, he would take the hour long drive from his home to visit my grandmother, Claudia, in Brighton Beach, Brooklyn. Sometimes, he would call me on his way and ask if he could stop by. One day, he rolled in mid-afternoon, went right in to the kitchen, and whipped up a meal for my two best friends and I. Papa, is super sweet like that. He loves me, and by extension, he loves my friends and takes care of them too.

One morning, the doorbell rang. It was Papa, unannounced. Luckily (well, maybe not so luckily, hehe) our rooms were slept in solo. My roommates and I looked at each other, and I knew from their expressions, and my thoughts, he could not get that comfortable.

"Papa", I say, "I love when you come visit. However..." and I drawl out slowly and indirectly, but giving him enough indication that there was something a little more adult and serious in my words, "there are threee siiinnngggglllleeee girls living here. All siiinnnngggglllleee."

After a moment, a realization flashes across his face. "O!! I so sorry! O-Ohh! I vill alvays call from nowz on!".

Papa realized, we get some, sometimes.