Nancy's niece, who is cute as a button and in her lower 20s, sighed loudly and said, "Don't talk to me about that Tony Packo's."
"Why," I asked.
"I used to work here at The Andersons," Nancy's niece has gone through at least 20 jobs in her brief life, "and I had a huge crush on a boy that worked in that Tony Packo's and it just never worked out." She sighed again.
"Why didn't it work out?"
"Because he only had one ball."
We all laughed except her.
I had to probe further, "How did you find out he only had one ball?"
"Oh, that was his nickname. One Ball. I guess it just wasn't meant to be."
"Hold on! If his name was One Ball, you had to know that he only had one ball before you fell in love with him."
"No, I just thought it was his nickname. When I asked his friends about going out with him, they told me they called him that because he really only had one ball."
"How did he lose it?"
"I dunno, childhood accident of some kind."
We were silent for a minute. I watched someone pick up a bag of takeout hotdogs from the Tony Packo's. I thought about One Ball working every day with such phallic food. At least Tony's pink hot dogs had no balls. Something was still nagging at me. "If you liked him so much, why would him having one ball stop you from going out with him?"
She looked whistfully at Tony Packo's, like a fisherman's wife standing on a cliff overlooking the sea and remembering the husband that left and never returned. "It would just be too weird. I mean, he only had one ball."