It's like finding something you haven't been looking for but have always wanted. (Unknown)

The third and final step rarely came, but when it did, it was a big to-do. Uncle Tony would first practice making a meal and it would be an elaborate one. After he was sure he could make it properly, he would make it for the entire family plus one. Uncle Tony would be cooking all day. My mother would help him. My father would laugh. Senior would make an unmoving appearance at the debacle. As for me, I would test her. I would be myself and if I was to be honest, I am a challenge. I would undercut her, turn everything she said against her, repeat her previous statements later when they contradicted her. I found lies where there were none. I not only made Uncle Tony question her as a viable option, I made her question herself. I love my Uncle Tony. I want him to find a nice girl. I want him to be happy. Most of all, I just like messing with people. It’s not as fun now but I’m not the bratty kid now that I was back then.

There was one girl who almost made it past the third step: her name was Scotch. No, this is not a joke about my uncle’s love of scotch, the woman’s name was actually Scotch. She was had a bleach blond bob and she had a funky style. She was a short woman with an unforgettable face and a slender, almost wiry body. She came over with a bright striped scarf and a bag of groceries.

For the first time, the female candidate made the meal. She had brought all organic ingredients, most of which she had grown herself. It was a lot healthier than what we were used to. She was enthusiastic and fun so I pretended to like some of it but for the most part it was terrible. Senior didn’t pretend to like it. My mother actually liked it. Uncle Tony didn’t taste the food; he was too involved with the evaluation taking place. My father didn’t notice it. He just shovelled it into his mouth like any other meal as he digested her fascinating ideas.

In a house of corrupt war veterans it was taboo to talk about war in such a demeaning way. My father thought she had moxy to be so bold about her ideas when everyone else tiptoed around the topic with them. For all she knew, Uncle Ricky had died serving his country. For all she knew my father and Uncle Tony believed in the cause, believed in the war. For all she knew she was compromising our approval with her ideals but she didn’t care. Save Senior, we were all suitably impressed by that.

Things were going fairly well, so well that when the meal ended Uncle Tony didn’t drive her home right away like the others. She offered to wash the dishes and Uncle Tony helped her just like my parents did sometimes. He wanted Scotch to be his Penny.