A small bar. The Christmas decorations were already up. Thanksgiving wasn’t but a few days deceased, but the halls were officially decked.

I got a burger and a tall beer. The beer came in a mug the size of a flowerpot. The burger was more breadcrumbs than beef. An old food service trick.

He was sitting at the bar. Young. Cleancut. The full face of youth. His head was peering into his glass. As though glass were going to talk back. It didn’t. Glasses rarely do.

“Last night, I asked Erin to marry me,” he said to the bartender.

The bartender, a woman comfortably in her 60s, leaned on the bar. Back in the days when you could smoke in Alabama establishments, this woman would’ve most certainly been doing so. They knew each other, apparently.

“You finally asked?” the barkeep said. “Oh, baby. What’d she say?”

“Well, that’s the thing. What I was thinking? I should’ve never asked her. What right do I have? We’ve only been dating five months. Erin could find a guy WAY better than me. There’s no doubt. I don’t mean that I’m a bad guy, but she’s way out of my league, we both know that.

“She’s beautiful, she’s sweet. Every place I take her, all the guys are usually pretending to be looking at something in her direction. She’s smart, she just told me she wants to go to school to be a nurse someday. Did you know that? She doesn’t have any money to do school because her mom and dad kicked her out when she was eighteen.”

I prepared to take a bite of my burger when I noticed something unusual. My burger had a hair in it.

“She has two kids now,” he said. “Same daddy. I have no business taking on kids. Do I?

“I’m almost thirty. And I can’t believe I’m even considering it. I have no idea what to do with kids. I mean, you know I’ve never even had a REAL girlfriend. I’m so pathetic.

“I’ve been out on dates with lots of girls, sure. But they never really liked me. Remember that girl from Andalusia? She told me I’m too nice. Too nice? Is that even a thing? They all treat me like their older brother. But not Erin, she actually seemed to like me.”

“What did she say?” the waitress asked.

“And I’m not afraid of commitment like a lot of guys. I’m the most committed guy out of all my friends. But girls don’t want commitment, I found that out. They want someone who makes money. That’s not me. I drive a Kia, for heavensake. She could have someone rich if she wanted…”

I plucked the hair out.

The hair was short and curly.

“I knew it was a bad idea when I asked her to marry me,” he continued. “It was a setup for failure. How could I assume she’d want a guy like me?”

The barwoman looked at him. “What. Did. She. Say?”

“I mean, why do I always do this to myself? Why am I always such a fool?”

There are only two places short curly hairs come from.

“Tell me what she said.”

The man looked like he was going to cry. His voice broke. “She said yes.”

“Oh, sweetie. I’m so happy.”

“But, what am I going to do? She deserves better than me. I’m so scared. I’m going to mess it up. I know I am.”

The bartender smiled and patted his hand, tenderly. Nat Cole was singing overhead.

“Honey,” she said. “Mankind has been screwing up marriage for centuries. Now it’s your turn.”

The young man grasped the bartender’s hand. “Thanks, Mom,” he said.

My burger died of neglect.