A lot.
When it rains, I like to stay indoors. I don't particularly care to go outside, and I don't especially care to drive anywhere. Too many people who don't know the difference between hydroplane and hydrogen.
Today, I'm sitting in the kitchen. I'm looking over the 50th anniversary issue of Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition until my father releases the morning newspaper from his wrinkly little fingers.
When I have time, I'm trying to finish reading a great book called Unbroken. A good portion of it takes place in various Japanese POW camps. The Japanese didn't hang onto their World War Two prisoners the way my Dad hangs onto the morning newspaper.
Every once in a while, I can see him looking over the top of his newspaper and over at one of the beautiful bikini-clad models on the cover of my magazine. On the front of the cover is a model showing off her boobs, and on the back cover are three models showing off their oompa-loompas.
When I have time, I'm trying to finish reading a great book called Unbroken. A good portion of it takes place in various Japanese POW camps. The Japanese didn't hang onto their World War Two prisoners the way my Dad hangs onto the morning newspaper.
Every once in a while, I can see him looking over the top of his newspaper and over at one of the beautiful bikini-clad models on the cover of my magazine. On the front of the cover is a model showing off her boobs, and on the back cover are three models showing off their oompa-loompas.
I'm drinking a hot cup of coffee.
I'm wearing a t-shirts, shorts, no shoes.
It's still raining.
It's still raining.
My Dad is looking at the newspaper, looking at the models, and drinking his hot tea. He lifts his head and looks out the window at the rain. He sits there like that for awhile...
Yep, it's still raining.
Without turning to look at me or addressing me, he asks no one in particular, but I know he's talking to me, he mumbles, "Hmm..." Click, click, click! Smack, smack, smack! "Ahhh... Have you taken him outside yet?"
"What, Dad?"
Still not looking at me.
"Have you taken him outside yet?"
"Who's that, Dad?"
"What?"
"Who am I supposed to take outside, Dad?"
You see, my Dad has a dog, and that's who he's talking about. My wife's not in the kitchen with us. If she was, she would do it because she has a kind heart. That's one of the reasons I married her. Another reason is that she could have been the forth model on the back cover of Sports Illustrated.
Myself, when it comes to putting my kind heart to good use, I'm a bit more stubborn.
I'm thinking: "Have I done what? Who is he even talking to?"Yep, it's still raining.
Without turning to look at me or addressing me, he asks no one in particular, but I know he's talking to me, he mumbles, "Hmm..." Click, click, click! Smack, smack, smack! "Ahhh... Have you taken him outside yet?"
"What, Dad?"
Still not looking at me.
"Have you taken him outside yet?"
"Who's that, Dad?"
"What?"
"Who am I supposed to take outside, Dad?"
You see, my Dad has a dog, and that's who he's talking about. My wife's not in the kitchen with us. If she was, she would do it because she has a kind heart. That's one of the reasons I married her. Another reason is that she could have been the forth model on the back cover of Sports Illustrated.
Myself, when it comes to putting my kind heart to good use, I'm a bit more stubborn.
I don't feed his dog.
I didn't want his dog.
It's not my job to take his dog outside to do its business.
In fact, I don't even know what the dog's doing in my house. Or my Dad, for that matter. My Dad has a very nice father-in-law house in the front of our property, and that's where I expected him to spend most of his time when I first asked him to move in with me and my family. But first thing in the morning, my Dad lets himself into our kitchen, sits at the table, and waits for my wife to serve him breakfast. While he's waiting, he'll hog the newspaper. Some mornings he'll hang onto it for so long, that I'll just have to forgo reading it for that day. Time's too short, and I have too much to do. If I knew I was going to have to spend my days working so long and so hard, I would never have retired. I would have stayed at my old job, where I had it easy. But back to what my Dad said...
In fact, I don't even know what the dog's doing in my house. Or my Dad, for that matter. My Dad has a very nice father-in-law house in the front of our property, and that's where I expected him to spend most of his time when I first asked him to move in with me and my family. But first thing in the morning, my Dad lets himself into our kitchen, sits at the table, and waits for my wife to serve him breakfast. While he's waiting, he'll hog the newspaper. Some mornings he'll hang onto it for so long, that I'll just have to forgo reading it for that day. Time's too short, and I have too much to do. If I knew I was going to have to spend my days working so long and so hard, I would never have retired. I would have stayed at my old job, where I had it easy. But back to what my Dad said...
His not looking at me pisses me off. I tell him, "Why would I take your dog outside? It's not my job, old man. I never take your dog outside. You do."
Actually, that's what I wanted to say. What I actually said was, "No, Dad. I didn't."
My Dad mumbles something (probably "jerk"), takes a drink of his tea, and looks outside. Still raining.
He sighs, and again, he speaks to no one in particular, "I guess I'll take him outside."
Yeah. You do that, old man.
Hmmm, this hot coffee is good.
Raising My Father
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
jimduchene.BlogSpot.com Fifty Shades of Funny
@JimDuchene
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