Mikey had the brim of the fedora pushed up
as he buckled in, which made me want to cringe. Every movie that showed someone
wearing a fedora like that was a doofus, a dork, a moron, so I had to coach
him.
“Not bad, but the best way is to
bring it down in front, and then you tilt it a little on one side, kind of
covering one eye. Makes you mysterious.”
“Like a pirate?”
“Sure, a little like a pirate. And
you just act cool.”
He tried it out, which seemed more
like blank, but it was a start.
The flight attendant, Amanda, came
by, asking for drink orders from Mikey’s mom. I leaned in close to him and
whispered, “Okay, when she asks what you want to drink, you gotta do it with
style. Feel the hat. So when she asks, you say, ‘Chocolate milk. Neat. Leave
the bottle.’ She’ll know you’re cool.”
From my other side, I heard an
aborted laugh turn into a cough. Mikey nodded, though. Amanda turned to him
with a pleasant, practiced smile, and asked “What would you like to drink?”
Mikey tried making his voice a
little deeper, but got the line out, perfectly.
Amanda’s smile switched at the
corners, becoming more genuine, and then nodded. “And for you, sir?” She asked
me.
“Same as my partner, but make ‘em
doubles.”
Nikki began
to chuckle, and it threatened to be a side-splitting laugh.
“What?”
“Only you,
Matthew. Only you.”
“What?”
“Only you
could corrupt a young boy with a fedora and by telling him to order chocolate
milk like it was fine scotch.”
“Hey, the
world would be a much better place if everyone ordered their drinks like they
were fine scotch. ‘Chocolate malted, shaken, not stirred.”
That was
too much for Nikki and she fell against the far arm of the couch laughing.