What’s for Lunch?

What’s for Lunch?

“Did you see that serve? That was unbelievable, it kicked out so wide,” Graham said. He switched the phone to the other ear.

“That’s the only way Roddick’s ever gonna win,” Felix said. “Serving like that.”

“Could be,” Graham said, popping more Chex Mix into his mouth. “But I think he’s moving a lot better than last year, don’t you?”

“Looks like it. He took time off at the end of 2009 for his knee. We’ll see what happens if this turns into a five- set match. Hang on buddy, be right back.”

Felix set the phone down, while Graham walked to the window, waved to his wife Brenda, weeding their garden. He debated whether or not to change out of his bathrobe, decided not to. He grabbed the bag of Chex Mix, a Dos Equis from the fridge, returned to his study.

“Sorry about that, “ Felix said. “Fed Ex delivery.”

“Your wife isn’t home?” Graham asked. He put his feet up on his desk.

“Nope, yours?”

“Yeah, she’s out in the garden.”

“Nice. Oh, did you see that? Roddick painted the line, there’s no way that was out.”

“The umpire just overruled it?” Graham said. “What an ass!”

“Speaking of asses, did you see those shorts Nadal had on yesterday?”

“The light ones with the checks?” Graham smiled. “Those were sick.”

Felix chuckled. “I think Murray is looking mighty fine lately.”

“But that face.”

“Whatever, buddy, you think Nadal is hot. And he’s not exactly model material either.”

“I wouldn’t say hot, I just think his ass is the nicest on tour.”

“You and your ass obsession…” Felix paused.

“Yeah? What about it?” Graham pushed.

“Damn, my wife just got home from church,” Felix said. “You gonna be at the Tennis Club any time today?”

“What time?” Graham took a swig of the Dos Equis.

“If we get there around 2, then we can catch the Federer match.”

“Sounds good, see you in a couple of hours.”

Graham hung up the phone. He stood up and stretched. Walked to the screened porch. “Hey honey,” he called to Brenda, “what’s for lunch?”