I'm Not Gonna Lie by George Lopez Page B

devoted to strawberries? With games and rides and people walking around dressed up like actual strawberries? Really? Why did I agree to this? What was I thinking? But I’d made a commitment. I promised I’d go.
    Until I found out that Tiger Woods had entered the Byron Nelson Tournament and was playing in a twosome with a friend of mine. Tiger had just won the Masters and was on a roll. I knew he would kick my friend’s ass, but I wanted to see my friend go head-to-head with Tiger. How many times do you get to watch your buddy play with Tiger Woods on national television? I wanted to get comfortable on my couch, pour myself a couple of adult beverages, roll out some snacks, and watch the golf tournament on my big screen.
    I broke the news to my wife. I told her I changed my mind. I was gonna stay home and watch golf. I wasn’t leaving the house.
    â€œWhat about the strawberry festival?”
    â€œUnfortunately, I have a conflict. Something came up. Something unforeseen and unavoidable. I have to watch the golf tournament.”
    â€œBut you said—”
    â€œI know what I said. And I meant it. At the time. But my friend’s playing against Tiger. Could be a once-in-a- lifetime thing. I can’t miss that. You can go to the strawberry festival without me. You’ll have a better time. I don’t love strawberry cream pie all that much, especially in the heat.”
    â€œI’m not going without you.”
    â€œWell, you’re gonna have to.”
    Things escalated from there. Kind of got heated. Shouting, screaming, finger-pointing, name-calling. I don’t remember exactly what we said, but I remember doors slamming and a lot of crying. My wife got upset, too.
    Bottom line: I got my way. My wife went off to the strawberry festival, and I settled in to watch the golf tournament. I found my spot on the couch, kicked off my shoes, aimed the remote and—
    Fffzzzt
.
    The cable went out.
    One minute I’m looking at Tiger; a second later I’m staring at a pitch-black screen.
    â€œSon of a bitch.” I whacked the back of the remote with my palm. That usually works. I tried the TV again.
    Nothing.
    I couldn’t believe it.
    â€œThe damn cable’s
out
?
”
    Whack, whack, whack.
    Nothing.
    Then I realized what happened. “She probably cut the wire.”
    I groaned miserably. I figured this was either an example of my luck or God getting back at me for bailing on my wife.
    I never did see Tiger and my friend playing in the Byron Nelson, but at least I avoided the long lines in the heat at the strawberry festival.
    But to this day—sixteen years later—I gag whenever anybody mentions anything to do with strawberries.
    â€œInterested in dessert?”
    â€œTempt me. What do you have?”
    â€œPies. We bake all our pies here. We have apple pie, cherry pie, and our house favorite, creamy, gooey strawberry cream pie—”
    I gag, cover my mouth, and bolt into the bathroom.

HAVING KIDS AFTER FIFTY OR . . . ARE YOU CRAZY ?

I’VE been blessed to have accomplished a few things in my life, but when people ask me, “What’s your number one achievement?” I always say, “That’s easy. My incredible daughter, Mayan.”
    She’s the best thing that ever happened to me. Everything else is in second place.
    And believe me, I’m glad I became a father in my thirties, because when you’re over fifty, having a kid will age you rapidly.
    That’s the last thing you need—something that makes you older faster.
    If you’re over fifty and you get into a serious relationship with a younger woman, the question of having kids will come up. It’s inevitable. And you won’t like it. One night you’ll be in bed minding your own business, watching TV or sorting through your golf tees, and your girlfriend, wearing something slinky and sexy, will cuddle up next to you and very casually start having