Before You Get To Baby.... Terry Essig

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      Rick was still lovingly stroking the remote control with his thumb. “Uh-huh, uh-huh, sure babe, whatever you want. You know that.”

      Drew stifled a laugh and whispered to Frannie, “This could get interesting.”

      Frannie flushed. She grasped Drew’s arm and tugged. “Let’s you and I go in the kitchen. Give them a little privacy.”

      “Not on your life,” he shot back quietly. “What’s wrong with the man being on top, I’d like to know? I kind of like it myself.” Then more loudly, “Hey, Evie, about the men’s tuxes, basic black, right? I mean, since I’ve got to wear one—”

      Frannie stomped on his foot. “Hush, this is none of your business.” She tugged harder, but it reminded her of the last time she’d had to move the refrigerator to clean behind it. Just about impossible. She braced herself and yanked again. Drew barely budged. She was going to need reinforcements, just as she did for the refrigerator. “Come on, Drew.”

      “Don’t sweat it, Drew. Black is fine. For the jacket and pants,” Evie said.

      The hair on the back of his arm stood up. Planting himself more firmly against Frannie’s surprising strength, Drew quickly questioned, “For the jacket and pants? What does that mean? What else is there? I mean, the shirt’ll be white. Dress shirts are always white. And the cummerbund. Black, right?”

      “Welll…” Evie hesitated and Drew panicked.

      “I was kind of thinking…”

      God save him from women who thought. “What? What were you thinking?”

      “Well, you know how men’s formal shirts have those rows of ruffles down the fronts?”

      Drew was getting a very bad feeling here. “Yeah? Maybe we could just wear plain white shirts. I don’t see why that wouldn’t work, do you, Rick?” He turned to his best friend, hoping for salvation but finding only a wicked grin.

      “It’s only for a few hours, old buddy. Whatever she’s got in mind, it’ll only hurt for a little while. Promise.”

      Frannie huffed, “Honestly, what a couple of babies.”

      “I’ll make a deal,” Evie said. “No ruffles on the shirts, just tucks…”

      “Tucks?”

      “Tucks,” Evie repeated firmly. “In exchange for which you will, without complaint, wear a cummerbund that matches the bridesmaids’ dresses.

      “Take it,” Rick advised. “It’s a good deal. Think of it as the fee us guys have to pay to get exclusive rights.” He gave his fiancée a sick smile. “We’re both going to live.”

      Then he whispered quietly, “Just agree, will you? The quicker they’re satisfied, the quicker we can get back to the game.”

      Drew took a deep breath. “Okay, so what’s the color scheme?” He wasn’t at all sure he really wanted to know.

      “Well, I really, really love pink, you know…”

      “Pink?” Drew exploded.

      Frannie rolled her eyes.

      Evie patted her hair. “But I think it would clash with my hair so Frannie and I have decided on lettuce.”

      “Lettuce? That’s a color?”

      Frannie patted Drew’s arm. She’d all but given up on dragging him out of the room. “A very pale green, Drew. Nothing too threatening, just green. Evie and I thought that since her hair was red, we should surround her with its complementary color, green. The wedding pictures are going to be gorgeous.” No need to tell him pink had never really been in the running. It had only been thrown in to make the green sound good by comparison.

      “Evie’s beautiful no matter what she wears,” Rick declared loyally.

      “Very good, dear,” Evie said and kissed him soundly. “That got you two extra brownie points.”

      Rick hitched up his jeans. “Yeah? How many do I need for another round of me on top?”

      “You were listening.”

      “I always listen to you, sweetheart.”

      It was difficult to feminize a snort, but Evie managed. Frannie was impressed.

      “Okay, so lettuce is a girl word for green, right? I can live with green.”

      “For heaven’s sake, Drew, your masculinity will survive.” Frannie gave him a hard tug, caught him by surprise and actually moved him. “Now, come on.”

      “No, Frannie, wait. This is a learning experience. I want to hear more about this point thing.”

      She pulled again, gained another few inches. “We are not going to stand here and listen in like a couple of voyeurs while they discuss the merits of…whatever. Remember my virgin ears. Now come on!”

      Frannie finally got Drew into the kitchen. “Here, sit down.” She pulled out two chairs from the kitchen table, pushing him into one. “I’ve done some figuring. Tell me what you think.”

      Drew rested his head on his hands. “About what?”

      “I went out and bought a tape measure.”

      “Yeah?” Drew was thirsty. He thought about getting up and checking the refrigerator for another beer but it seemed like an awful lot of effort.

      “Yes. So I measured. My waist is twenty-four inches. I wasn’t too sure exactly where to get the hips, but I figured take the biggest measurement, right?”

      He forgot about the beer. “Uh, sure.” Twenty-four-inch waist? That was pretty good, he thought. His own was ten inches larger. Man, he wouldn’t miss spanning Frannie’s waist with his two hands by much. Should he ever get the urge to try, that was.

      “And that would be thirty-seven.”

      “Thirty-seven?” Thirty-seven what? Oh, hips. That’s what they’d been talking about. Wow. He could hardly wait to hear the math on that.

      “Yeah, so anyway, I divided it out and got sixty-five percent. That’s pretty good, don’t you think? You said you thought it was between sixty and seventy percent and I got dead center. But the thing is…”

      Drew pulled out a pen from the checkbook in his pocket and did some quick calculations on a napkin from the napkin holder. Sixty-four-point-eight-six percent rounded off to sixty-five, all right. “Hmm? What thing?”

      “Well, do you know anything about the bust?”

      Staring at Frannie blankly, Drew asked, “What?”

      “Didn’t it say anything in your reading about ideal bust measurements? You know, bust-to-waist or bust-to-hip ratio?”

      Man, he was dying here. Sixty-five percent waist-to-hips ratio and she wanted to talk breasts?

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