Grandpa Mel pulled me back a seat at the dining room table.

            “Your Mother said you’ve had a rough sophomore year,” he browed as I sat, “But sometimes strange nights can lead to great things.”

            Knowing this was his way of introducing a story and not just crazy cryptic old person speak, I nodded and leaned in attentively.

            “There was a young man in college—younger than you are now—and he was quite the playboy.”  Grandpa Mel chuckled nostalgically and patted his gut as he shifted in the wicker chair.  “Yessir, m’boy, women by the dozen.  So many that he soon grew a reputation and didn’t have to hide it.  They called him the “Ferris Wheel”; everyone knew him and went up at least once.”

            His eyes suggested he was rather familiar with this character, and his tightened mouth corners didn’t make it difficult to finger a top suspect.

            “But with wear came tear,” sunk my Grandfather, “And soon the Wheel was decommissioned.  Our boy finds himself in a very cold room in a very silly dress and is introduced to alternative places to use a shaving razor.”

            I crossed my legs.

            Grandma Lily entered from the kitchen and began placing the chicken bones and greasy silverware from around the table onto one plate.

            “In walked the nurse to apply a moisturizer,” continued Grandpa.  “The Ferris Wheel had never felt a soft caress before.  It had always been animalistic, primal.  He had caught in a pattern.  And here was a woman who defied that with something he’d never known before.”

            “What?” I asked.

            “Passion.  Intentions strong as an oak but enough respect to be gentle and considerate.  The Wheel knew then that no other woman would do,” he wrapped his arm around Grandma’s waist as she stacked the plates and rubbed his fingers gently up and down her thigh.

            My eyes drifted down to her ankle, where I noticed for the first time a tattoo of a red Ferris wheel.

            Grandpa followed my expression and indicated, “That’s a story for another day.”

            “Another day,” Grandma echoed in a voice so startlingly deep, it might as well have had a beard.

            “I hope this helped.”  Grandpa kissed my forehead, fluttered his eyelashes, and stood to help Grandma clear the table.