Regular Guy Read Online Free PDF Page B

wiggle your hips, Wuckums!” my mother shrieked. “Come on, hoochy-koochy man, put a little Elvis in your pelvis!”
    Bob-o snickered.
    â€œShh. Keep watching.”
    My father managed to go under the bar—mostly because my mother cheated and lifted it higher so his gut could pass under it. Then it was her turn.
    â€œCha-cha-cha-cha-cha-CHA…” My mother began to sing and dance a demented little number that involved sticking her rear end out and pursing her lips. At one point she bumped into Mr. Smith so hard that she knocked him off balance and his arm went into the lemonade-filled wading pool up to his elbow. Mrs. Smith rushed over with some napkins to help dry him off while my mother, oblivious to her wet guest, continued to dance. Finally she made a big show of bending way over backward and sliding under the fishing pole. As soon as she wasdone my father dropped the pole and applauded wildly. Then my mother ran over and hopped on his back so he could run, carrying her piggyback around the backyard for a minute.
    â€œWhat do you think of them, Bob-o?” I asked. He shrugged. “Do you think they’re weird?” He shrugged again. “Embarrassingly freakish?” I asked.
    â€œNot particularly,” he said. “I think they’re sort of…cool.”
    â€œExactly. And there’s your proof,” I said as I flopped down on my bed, partly because I’d made my point and partly because Bob-o was smelling fishy and I needed some breathing room.
    â€œProof of what?” asked Bob-o, coming dangerously within whiffing distance again.
    â€œProof of the fact that you and I were switched at birth.”
    Bob-o started to protest, but I stopped him before the words actually made it out of his mouth.
    â€œLook at yourself and look at my folks. Don’t you see the similarity?” I asked. “Sure, there’s the bad eyesight, the high-water pants and the red hair, but there’s something much bigger than that. You’re all kind of, well, forgive me for being blunt, Bob-o, but you’re all kind of different in the same way. You know?”
    â€œAnd you think they’re really my—” Bob-o said.
    I nodded. “And your mom and dad are really my mom and dad too—all the signs point to that.”
    â€œThey do?” said Bob-o.
    â€œSure. There’s the straight brown hair and the left-handedness, but that’s not the most important thing—your parents are completely normal, Bob-o,” I said. “Normal, predictable, ordinary, regular. Like me, right?”
    Bob-o sort of half shrugged, half nodded in response.
    â€œDon’t you get it? They shared the same room when we were born. Do you have any idea how easy it would be to mix up acouple of babies if you were taking them to the same room?”
    Bob-o sat down on the foot of my bed and started to scratch his nose. I gave him a sharp look, and he put his hands back in his pockets. He smelled terrible. I had to finish up this discussion soon or I was going to pass out.
    â€œDo you believe me now?” I asked. Bob-o did his half shrug, half nod again. Just then I heard a loud belch. Buzz stood in the doorway with his hands on his hips and an annoyed look on his face.
    â€œExcuuuuse me,” he said, “but since when do you have parties and not invite me?”
    â€œThis is no party, Buzzard. This is life and death.”
    â€œOh,” said Buzz as he came over and sat on the edge of the bed, “in that case I’m no longer offended, just curious. Sheesh, it smells like Sea World on a hot day in here.”
    â€œI just clued Bob-o in about the baby mix-up and I’m glad you’re here, because wecould use a little expert advice.”
    â€œThat’s my specialty,” said Buzz as he snatched up a magazine and started fanning fresh air in through the open window.
    â€œWe need to figure out a way to tell our parents,” I