For the holidays, Maloney's wife, Gail, likes to put out little bowls of candy for friends and family to help themselves to. This Easter, she's filled the bowl with peanut M&M's that are painted bright Easter egg colors.
At the recent cookout he didn't invite me to but was telling me about, once all the steaks, chicken, and grilled veggies were done, he was inside doing what he does best. Talking.
Down the hall, he saw his mother-in-law exit the bathroom. It reminded him that he hadn't seen her in a while. She must have been in there a long time, if you get my drift. She comes out with some toilet paper in her hand, and proceeds to blow her nose as she walks down the hall toward everyone. When she's done emptying out her snot-maker, she wipes the end of her nose and puts the toilet paper in a pocket. For later use, Maloney figures. My father does the same thing, except with a handkerchief.
Apparently, her bodily functions must be like a car wreck to Maloney, because he can't stop watching her. He sees her walk into the room. He sees her walk up to the candy bowl. AND he sees her reach in with her hand for some candy.
Maloney makes a mental note not to help himself to any more of the peanut M&M's.
I can sympathize with my friend. My wife knows that if she puts anything uncovered on the table I will not eat any part of it. With my Dad's coughing, sneezing, and blowing of his nose, who knows what damage he leaves behind. So she has to separate anything that both my father and I might like.
She puts my stuff inside the top cabinets, where he can't reach. I'm not saying my Dad is short. I'm just saying that he's not as tall as he used to be. Besides, reaching for something takes work. If my Dad has to make an effort, he'll just ask my wife to get it for him instead.
At the recent cookout he didn't invite me to but was telling me about, once all the steaks, chicken, and grilled veggies were done, he was inside doing what he does best. Talking.
Down the hall, he saw his mother-in-law exit the bathroom. It reminded him that he hadn't seen her in a while. She must have been in there a long time, if you get my drift. She comes out with some toilet paper in her hand, and proceeds to blow her nose as she walks down the hall toward everyone. When she's done emptying out her snot-maker, she wipes the end of her nose and puts the toilet paper in a pocket. For later use, Maloney figures. My father does the same thing, except with a handkerchief.
Apparently, her bodily functions must be like a car wreck to Maloney, because he can't stop watching her. He sees her walk into the room. He sees her walk up to the candy bowl. AND he sees her reach in with her hand for some candy.
Maloney makes a mental note not to help himself to any more of the peanut M&M's.
I can sympathize with my friend. My wife knows that if she puts anything uncovered on the table I will not eat any part of it. With my Dad's coughing, sneezing, and blowing of his nose, who knows what damage he leaves behind. So she has to separate anything that both my father and I might like.
She puts my stuff inside the top cabinets, where he can't reach. I'm not saying my Dad is short. I'm just saying that he's not as tall as he used to be. Besides, reaching for something takes work. If my Dad has to make an effort, he'll just ask my wife to get it for him instead.
On the occasions he's asked me to get him something, I'll tell him, "In a second, Dad."
He'll wait, and then one of two things will happen. One, he'll forget he's asked me to get him something, or, two, my wife will walk into the room and he'll ask her to get it for him.
My wife will later ask me, "Why didn't you get it for him?"
And I'll tell her, "He didn't ask me."
And my wife will say, "I know you're lying, but I can't prove you're lying."
Whatever happened to trust in a marriage?
Getting back to food being left within my Dad's reach, the other problem is that his nose is always running. I mean it, it's always running.Sometimes he'll be eating and I'll see a drop of clear liquid getting ready to drip out of his nose. He'll wipe his nose, sometimes he'll even blow it, but two minutes later another drop has taken its place.
When that happens, I'm out of there, taking my food with me.
And don't get me started on how he continues to gargle his tea. (I said DON'T GET ME STARTED!) Even my wife has to walk away.
"ARGHHHHH!" Gargle gargle, gargle! Gulp! "AHHHHH!" Sip, sip. "ARGHHHHH!" Gargle, gargle, gulp! "AHHHHH!" Sip, gargle, and drink some more.
But getting back to my main complaint...
"Why do you leave snacks out like that?" I'll ask my wife.
"Why do you leave snacks out like that?" I'll ask my wife.
"Because Dad likes to help himself," she'll tell me.
"Only when you're not around," I'll tell her, and we'll both be at a stalemate.
I can't fault her for wanting to do things for my father, and she understands a lot of food and snacks get thrown away because I won't eat anything after my father has had his hand in it. Now, just in case my wife ever reads this, let me just add that this is more a quirk on my part, than a problem on my Dad's.
Just recently, I was at a restaurant. I went to the bathroom to do what one does in the bathroom, as long as one isn't ex-politician Larry "Wide Stance" Craig, and, after I was done, I walked over to the sink to wash my hands. Unfortunately, an elderly gentleman had beat me to it, so I stood waiting patiently behind him. He turned the handle for the water to come on, and, for some reason I still don't understand, he spat into the sink. It wasn't a pa-touie! kind of spit. What he did was lean over the sink and let saliva drip out of his mouth. Then he rinsed his hands, lifted a cupped hand of water to his mouth, rinsed, and spat out into the sink again.
He turned off the faucet, dried his hands on his pants, and then walked out.
I stood there.
I needed to wash my hands for obvious reasons, but I didn't want to touch anything that man had handled. After some thought, I had a moment of insight. I would get a paper towel and use that to touch what needed to be touched.
Only there were no paper towels.
The dispenser was out.
That's why the older gentleman had dried his hands on his pants.
What did I do?
Well, let's just say I did what I had to do, but I did it reluctantly.
I am a very clean person, so there was no way I was going to leave that bathroom without having washed my hands first. My father is a very clean person, too. He goes for a walk every morning, and, when he gets back, he'll take a shower.
Just recently, I was at a restaurant. I went to the bathroom to do what one does in the bathroom, as long as one isn't ex-politician Larry "Wide Stance" Craig, and, after I was done, I walked over to the sink to wash my hands. Unfortunately, an elderly gentleman had beat me to it, so I stood waiting patiently behind him. He turned the handle for the water to come on, and, for some reason I still don't understand, he spat into the sink. It wasn't a pa-touie! kind of spit. What he did was lean over the sink and let saliva drip out of his mouth. Then he rinsed his hands, lifted a cupped hand of water to his mouth, rinsed, and spat out into the sink again.
He turned off the faucet, dried his hands on his pants, and then walked out.
I stood there.
I needed to wash my hands for obvious reasons, but I didn't want to touch anything that man had handled. After some thought, I had a moment of insight. I would get a paper towel and use that to touch what needed to be touched.
Only there were no paper towels.
The dispenser was out.
That's why the older gentleman had dried his hands on his pants.
What did I do?
Well, let's just say I did what I had to do, but I did it reluctantly.
I am a very clean person, so there was no way I was going to leave that bathroom without having washed my hands first. My father is a very clean person, too. He goes for a walk every morning, and, when he gets back, he'll take a shower.
Where he takes it to, I have no idea.
Raising My Father
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