After eating all of my wife's breakfast and even some of mine, my Dad goes into the bathroom of the hotel room we're staying in to get ready for this special day. He's in there for over an hour.
Over an hour!
I don't know what he's doing in there, especially since he was already in there for half the night keeping my wife and I awake with his midnight shenanigans. After he's done making himself beautiful for the family he hasn't seen since last year's reunion, he comes out and tells my wife that he couldn't find his shaving cream so he used one of her creams.
My wife's eyes go wide. All of her creams are expensive.
"Uh, which one did you use, Dad?" she asks him.
"I don't know," he tells her. "It was the one in the little bottle."
I know exactly the one he's talking bout.
It's a little Bobby Brown face cream that sells for about the price of gold and gets rid of wrinkles and makes your skin more youthful.
"You're already youthful," I tell my wife, but it doesn't work. She continues to spend my retirement on the expensive cream.
Once, my Dad and I went with her to the mall and we found ourselves over at the Bobby Brown section. My Dad wouldn't normally be interested in cosmetics, but since what we needed was located right next to lingerie department my embarrassed Dad stayed close by.
"What's that you're buying?" he asked my wife.
"It's a face cream," she told him.
He looked at the size, which was very small indeed, and asked her if it was a free sample.
"No, Dad," she told him. "This is the cream."
"It's small."
"Yes, but you only use a little of it at a time, so it lasts."
"How much is it?" enquiring minds wanted to know.
My wife told him, and my Dad's eyes popped out like Roger Rabbits.
"How much?" my Dad asked her again, looking at me, looking at her, and looking back at me. His eyes were bulging out as if we were expecting him to pay for it. "Boy," he said, "when they put the price tag on that cream, they must have saw you coming."
"That doesn't even make sense, Dad," I told him, because I didn't want him to say something that would hurt my wife's feelings.
He looked at me with his big bug eyes.
"It's expensive, because it works," my wife told him. I could tell she was upset, because she didn't call him "Dad" the way she usually does.
His big bug eyes went back at her.
"Those expensive creams don't work," he told her. "I saw it on The View. You can use lard or shortening and it's the same thing."
"Yeah," I interjected, again wanting to head things off at the pass, "but who wants to smell like lard?"
My wife said nothing. She just stood there holding her cream.
My Dad just stood there with his eyes still bulging. His wallet still firmly packed into his rear pant pocket.
I looked over to the lingerie department where I saw... well, it doesn't matter what I saw.
"Those expensive creams aren't any good," my Dad says finally, and then he wanders off. That's his way of getting the last word.
"Those creams don't work," I told my wife, "because you're already beautiful."
My wife looks at me gratefully.
I don't know how I come up with lines like that some times. Maybe she'll show me just how grateful she is later, when we get home, and then I can use what I saw in the lingerie department to my advantage. Anyway...
Over an hour!
I don't know what he's doing in there, especially since he was already in there for half the night keeping my wife and I awake with his midnight shenanigans. After he's done making himself beautiful for the family he hasn't seen since last year's reunion, he comes out and tells my wife that he couldn't find his shaving cream so he used one of her creams.
My wife's eyes go wide. All of her creams are expensive.
"Uh, which one did you use, Dad?" she asks him.
"I don't know," he tells her. "It was the one in the little bottle."
I know exactly the one he's talking bout.
It's a little Bobby Brown face cream that sells for about the price of gold and gets rid of wrinkles and makes your skin more youthful.
"You're already youthful," I tell my wife, but it doesn't work. She continues to spend my retirement on the expensive cream.
Once, my Dad and I went with her to the mall and we found ourselves over at the Bobby Brown section. My Dad wouldn't normally be interested in cosmetics, but since what we needed was located right next to lingerie department my embarrassed Dad stayed close by.
"What's that you're buying?" he asked my wife.
"It's a face cream," she told him.
He looked at the size, which was very small indeed, and asked her if it was a free sample.
"No, Dad," she told him. "This is the cream."
"It's small."
"Yes, but you only use a little of it at a time, so it lasts."
"How much is it?" enquiring minds wanted to know.
My wife told him, and my Dad's eyes popped out like Roger Rabbits.
"How much?" my Dad asked her again, looking at me, looking at her, and looking back at me. His eyes were bulging out as if we were expecting him to pay for it. "Boy," he said, "when they put the price tag on that cream, they must have saw you coming."
"That doesn't even make sense, Dad," I told him, because I didn't want him to say something that would hurt my wife's feelings.
He looked at me with his big bug eyes.
"It's expensive, because it works," my wife told him. I could tell she was upset, because she didn't call him "Dad" the way she usually does.
His big bug eyes went back at her.
"Those expensive creams don't work," he told her. "I saw it on The View. You can use lard or shortening and it's the same thing."
"Yeah," I interjected, again wanting to head things off at the pass, "but who wants to smell like lard?"
My wife said nothing. She just stood there holding her cream.
My Dad just stood there with his eyes still bulging. His wallet still firmly packed into his rear pant pocket.
I looked over to the lingerie department where I saw... well, it doesn't matter what I saw.
"Those expensive creams aren't any good," my Dad says finally, and then he wanders off. That's his way of getting the last word.
"Those creams don't work," I told my wife, "because you're already beautiful."
My wife looks at me gratefully.
I don't know how I come up with lines like that some times. Maybe she'll show me just how grateful she is later, when we get home, and then I can use what I saw in the lingerie department to my advantage. Anyway...
My wife moves quickly and goes into the restroom. I won't say she's in a panic, I'd say she's more afraid to find out what she knows has just happened and wants to get the discovery over with quickly. Like pulling a band aid off. An incredibly expensive band aid.
She walks out of the bathroom holding a little jar for me to see. Around, it's about the size of an Eisenhower dollar, and about an inch high. She's got the cap off and is showing me that it's almost empty. My Dad has used most of that expensive face cream. I'm guessing as shaving cream, but who knows. He might have used it because he was all out of Preparation H.
My wife buries the cream somewhere deep in her luggage. A dark labyrinth so packed and foreboding with women's undies that not even my nosy Dad will go there.
She walks out of the bathroom holding a little jar for me to see. Around, it's about the size of an Eisenhower dollar, and about an inch high. She's got the cap off and is showing me that it's almost empty. My Dad has used most of that expensive face cream. I'm guessing as shaving cream, but who knows. He might have used it because he was all out of Preparation H.
My wife buries the cream somewhere deep in her luggage. A dark labyrinth so packed and foreboding with women's undies that not even my nosy Dad will go there.
Just as my Dad is putting on his shoes, he remembers something, gets up, and walks into the restroom. We hear him shuffling around and moving things here and there, to and fro, Garfunkle and Oates. He walks out a second later and asks my wife for her cream.
"What do you want it for?" she asks him right back.
"I want to use some on my feet," he tells her. "That's good cream."
There's nothing my wife won't do for my father. If he needed a kidney, even at his age, she would gladly give him one of mine.
"I'll buy you some," she tells him, and then firmly shuts and locks her luggage.
"What do you want it for?" she asks him right back.
"I want to use some on my feet," he tells her. "That's good cream."
There's nothing my wife won't do for my father. If he needed a kidney, even at his age, she would gladly give him one of mine.
"I'll buy you some," she tells him, and then firmly shuts and locks her luggage.
Raising My Father
RisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
jimduchene.BlogSpot.com American Chimpanzee
@JimDuchene
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