Just shoot me, right
between the eyes... twice.
Remember the incident with
my Dad's radio not working? And the reason was something as simple as the volume not being turned up? Well, a few days ago, my Dad tells my wife that his
(his?) TV isn't working. My wife, who likes to read mystery novels and fancies herself quite the detective, goes into his room to conduct her investigation.
Yep, it won't turn on.
Somehow, I get involved in it.
"Honey," my wife says, using her sweet-as-honey voice. I know something's up. "Your dad's TV isn't working."
"I guess it's time for him to buy himself a new one," I tell her. Kidding, but not really.
"No, really. Can you check it out for him?"
"What's the point?"
I'm really not trying to be rude, but I've barely sat down to enjoy a nice, hot cup of gourmet coffee (one of my rare indulgences), and read the morning newspaper, which is another rare indulgence, because--now that I think about it-my Dad usually beats me to the paper, and hogs the whole darn thing up. He got better about sharing it, for a time there, but people are creatures of habit, and he went back to his old habit of claiming the newspaper as if he was the one paying for it.
"Excuse me?" my wife says, her eyes bulging out a bit, kind of like the way my Dad does when he's confronted with something he doesn't understand, like how to turn on a TV set without breaking it.
Okay, I'm not stupid. I know I crossed some kind of line here, so I try to backtrack a little. It's still early in the day, and if the day starts off this way, then it's going to be a very long day, indeed.
"I mean, what's the point? Dad watches TV in the great room anyway? So what if his TV doesn't work?"
My wife continues to give me a new version of what I like to call The Look, and I continue to dig myself into a deeper, no-whoopie-tonight hole.
"In fact, how did he even know his TV wasn't working? He never watches it."
"Of course he watches it."
"No, he doesn't."
"Yes, he does."
"No, he doesn't."
"Yes, he does."
This seems silly to me, and, in that silliness, I wonder if I could get away with doing that trick Bugs Bunny use to do when he'd argue with Yosemite Sam. Bugs Bunny would go, "no, he doesn't," and Yosemite Sam would go, "yes, he does," and Bugs Bunny would go, "no, he doesn't," and Yosemite Sam would go, "yes, he does," and they'd say it over and over again, faster and faster, until Bugs Bunny would suddenly shift to, "yes, he does," and Yosemite Sam would be tricked into saying, "no, he doesn't. And that's final!"
Bugs would then take a cocky (no pun intended) bite from the carrot he always seemed to have with him, and say, "Well... if you insist, Doc. He doesn't."
I think about trying this trick on my wife, but I figure it wouldn't work. I'm no Bugs Bunny, and she's certainly no Yosemite Sam.
"Well, if he does," I tell her, "it must be when I'm asleep or away, because I always see him watching TV in the great room."
She doesn't say anything. She just stands there, trying to stare me down. Maybe "trying" is the wrong word. I should have said STARING me down. Early in our marriage, I used to belly right up to the challenge and try to beat her at this little game, but it was no use. She must have spent hours as a little girl, practicing in front of a mirror, staring it down, and now she's the all-time world champ at it. These days, if she stared at the mirror, the mirror would blink. She could even out-stare Mike Tyson if she had the opportunity, but, of course, he would just punch her, and the match would be over.
It's less like The Irresistible Force versus The Immovable Object, and more like The Irresistible Force versus The Guy Who Would Like To Have A Sex-Life, so I give in to the inevitable. I get up from my quickly-cooling cup of gourmet coffee, and go check my Dad's TV.
As soon as I walk in my Dad's little father-in-law house in the front of our property, he tells me, "It just quit working. I didn't do anything to it. I didn't touch it."
Yep, it won't turn on.
Somehow, I get involved in it.
"Honey," my wife says, using her sweet-as-honey voice. I know something's up. "Your dad's TV isn't working."
"I guess it's time for him to buy himself a new one," I tell her. Kidding, but not really.
"No, really. Can you check it out for him?"
"What's the point?"
I'm really not trying to be rude, but I've barely sat down to enjoy a nice, hot cup of gourmet coffee (one of my rare indulgences), and read the morning newspaper, which is another rare indulgence, because--now that I think about it-my Dad usually beats me to the paper, and hogs the whole darn thing up. He got better about sharing it, for a time there, but people are creatures of habit, and he went back to his old habit of claiming the newspaper as if he was the one paying for it.
"Excuse me?" my wife says, her eyes bulging out a bit, kind of like the way my Dad does when he's confronted with something he doesn't understand, like how to turn on a TV set without breaking it.
Okay, I'm not stupid. I know I crossed some kind of line here, so I try to backtrack a little. It's still early in the day, and if the day starts off this way, then it's going to be a very long day, indeed.
"I mean, what's the point? Dad watches TV in the great room anyway? So what if his TV doesn't work?"
My wife continues to give me a new version of what I like to call The Look, and I continue to dig myself into a deeper, no-whoopie-tonight hole.
"In fact, how did he even know his TV wasn't working? He never watches it."
"Of course he watches it."
"No, he doesn't."
"Yes, he does."
"No, he doesn't."
"Yes, he does."
This seems silly to me, and, in that silliness, I wonder if I could get away with doing that trick Bugs Bunny use to do when he'd argue with Yosemite Sam. Bugs Bunny would go, "no, he doesn't," and Yosemite Sam would go, "yes, he does," and Bugs Bunny would go, "no, he doesn't," and Yosemite Sam would go, "yes, he does," and they'd say it over and over again, faster and faster, until Bugs Bunny would suddenly shift to, "yes, he does," and Yosemite Sam would be tricked into saying, "no, he doesn't. And that's final!"
Bugs would then take a cocky (no pun intended) bite from the carrot he always seemed to have with him, and say, "Well... if you insist, Doc. He doesn't."
I think about trying this trick on my wife, but I figure it wouldn't work. I'm no Bugs Bunny, and she's certainly no Yosemite Sam.
"Well, if he does," I tell her, "it must be when I'm asleep or away, because I always see him watching TV in the great room."
She doesn't say anything. She just stands there, trying to stare me down. Maybe "trying" is the wrong word. I should have said STARING me down. Early in our marriage, I used to belly right up to the challenge and try to beat her at this little game, but it was no use. She must have spent hours as a little girl, practicing in front of a mirror, staring it down, and now she's the all-time world champ at it. These days, if she stared at the mirror, the mirror would blink. She could even out-stare Mike Tyson if she had the opportunity, but, of course, he would just punch her, and the match would be over.
It's less like The Irresistible Force versus The Immovable Object, and more like The Irresistible Force versus The Guy Who Would Like To Have A Sex-Life, so I give in to the inevitable. I get up from my quickly-cooling cup of gourmet coffee, and go check my Dad's TV.
As soon as I walk in my Dad's little father-in-law house in the front of our property, he tells me, "It just quit working. I didn't do anything to it. I didn't touch it."
Hmmm, the first sign of
guilt.
Raising My Father
RaisingMyFather.blogspot.com
jimduchene.blogspot.com Fifty Shades of Funny
@JimDuchene
@JimDuchene
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