Praying For Another Earthquake (Part Two)

Like I said, my wife and I love where we live, but the problem with living where we do is that the rest of the country seems to love where we live, too. So we're always having friends and relatives come by to visit or for vacation. They come for the good times, and they stay for the free room and board.

     Today I'm doing the finishing touches making sure the house meets my wife's high standards for some company that my wife is expecting. I would say company that we're expecting, but, since they're my wife's relatives, she's expecting them and I'm praying for another earthquake.

 

Two hours prior:

 

     I go into the kitchen and my Dad is watching the news on my TV there, and not even the channel with the blonde weather women with the big, um, personality. I consider it my TV, because my father has already staked his claim on the big-screen TV in the great-room along with my favorite chair, so, I'm out of luck when it comes to watching TV. Unless I want to go upstairs, which I don't.

     I look at the TV in the great-room. Baseball.

     I look at the TV in the kitchen. News.

     My Dad watches TV the way he reads the various sections of the newspaper... he hogs them all.

 

An hour prior:

 

     I walk into the kitchen.

     The lights are on, the microwave is on, and water's dripping from the sink. The TV is on, too.

     And no one is watching it.

 

Five minutes prior:

 

     I go back into the kitchen. It's the same as I left it 55 minutes ago. The only difference is that the microwave is beeping now.

     I turn off the lights and TVs, even the one in the great-room. I take the cup of once-hot water out of the microwave and put it in the sink. It's now cold. I make sure everything's picked up nice and neat. My wife would be proud of me. Maybe she'll even show me how proud later, depending on when her family leaves.

     Come on, earthquake!

     I'm in the hallway walking back in the general direction of my wife when I hear someone mumbling. It's my Dad. He's been MIA for over an hour, but now that I've picked up, he's back. How does he know I've just picked up? How does he know?

     Mumble, mumble, mumble.

     "Ohhh... ahhh..."

     Click, click, click!

     "Hoo, boy."

     Smack, smack, smack!

     "Weee-yah!"

     Mumble, mumble.

     And then he gets to the kitchen. I'm able to make out every other mumble.

     "Did I turn off the TV..." Smack, smack, smack! "...or did someone else?" Click, click, click! "Who turned off the TV?" Mumble, mumble. "Some bozo is always turning off the TV." Mumble. "I was only gone for a minute."

     Toot!

     I leave, chuckling to myself, but return a few minutes later because I feel a bit guilty for laughing at the expense of my Dad. I sneak a peek into the great-room and I find him watching the black screen of a turned-off TV.

     He hasn't even bothered to turn it on.

 

     The thing that bothers me the most about caring for a very elderly person is that it gives me a glimpse into my own future. One day I'll be the one sitting there, mumbling to myself, watching a dead TV...

     ...and annoying my kids.

 

 

Raising My Father

RaisingMyFather.blogspot.com

jimduchene.blogspot.com  Fifty Shades of Funny

@JimDuchene