Tony's worried that the woman downstairs is coming on to him big time. Of course, Tony is normally flattered when somebody of the opposite sex shows even the slightest interest in him, but her downstairs? - Well, that's something else.
She's Spanish, you see, and apart from the fact that she can't speak a word of English, she also has a terrible problem with facial hair. Tony reckons that you would need nerves of steel to spend an evening with something like that, and in the morning, find it lying next to you in bed.
I told the fat bastard that he's being a bit fussy, and after ten pints of lager and a few whiskies, even the ugliest of women seem to be attractive. The boy chuckled, and said that I'm probably right, and right now he's stood in front the mirror, telling himself that he can see why women think he's so charming.
He also says that he's going to spend a few hours on the internet later, learning a few essential phrases in Spanish, which he reckons will show her downstairs that he's a man of many talents. The phrases he has in mind are (a) I want to fuck you senseless, but without feeling your hairy face against mine, (b) Can you go and get me a few bottles of beer and a packet of cigarettes, and (c) Sorry I can't see you tonight, because I slept with you last night, and quite frankly, I don't want to repeat the experience.
Once again, the boy has grasped the situation with both hands, and has asked me if I can go to the pub tonight, alone, so that he and the human hairball from Madrid can "join their bodies in mutual harmony."
I wish him all the best, but told him to make sure that he takes all the necessary precautions, because fatherhood just isn't his thing!