Take one step forward and two back.
Isn't that the real world?
Isn't that the real world?
To make a very long story short--just because I like you--a water pipe in our house developed a pin-sized hole and it semi-flooded two of our bedrooms and two of our bathrooms. In math terms it would look like this: one house - two bedrooms - two bathrooms = I'm screwed. And not in the fun way. The water must have been spraying behind the wall for weeks, because the damage, while hidden for the most part, was extensive.
When I first noticed the water damage, I turned to my wife and asked, "What's my father been up to?" But, as it turned out, it wasn't my father after all. Just a faulty pipe. I felt bad. My wife made me feel worse.
We had a plumber fix the leak. He charged us extra because my Dad tried to help. Then the restoration team showed up to determine the damage. I think they were the same guys who put Sputnik into orbit for the Russians. They told me that preventing mildew is harder, so we have numerous fans and dehumidifiers stationed in the bedrooms, the bathrooms, and the garage. It's a seven day operation. God was able to create the universe in six.
Go figure.
"That's what you get for buying a cheap house," my brother told me.
"Cheap? My garage is worth more than your entire house," I pointed out.
"I rent."
"Exactly."
When I first noticed the water damage, I turned to my wife and asked, "What's my father been up to?" But, as it turned out, it wasn't my father after all. Just a faulty pipe. I felt bad. My wife made me feel worse.
We had a plumber fix the leak. He charged us extra because my Dad tried to help. Then the restoration team showed up to determine the damage. I think they were the same guys who put Sputnik into orbit for the Russians. They told me that preventing mildew is harder, so we have numerous fans and dehumidifiers stationed in the bedrooms, the bathrooms, and the garage. It's a seven day operation. God was able to create the universe in six.
Go figure.
"That's what you get for buying a cheap house," my brother told me.
"Cheap? My garage is worth more than your entire house," I pointed out.
"I rent."
"Exactly."
We had to relocate my father from his bedroom in the main house back to the little father-in-law house in the front of our property. He moved into the main house for reasons I won't go into now, because I don't feel like crying. I like to call his little house La Casita. My father likes to call it I'm Not Moving Back. I told him he could always invite one of his girlfriends to spend the night. The funny part is he actually considered that. Now, what kind of girlfriends can an almost 97-year-old man have?
Before you answer, I heard a recent news story out of Arizona, where the children of some elderly residents of an Old Folk's Home are complaining because they discovered--the hard way--that their parents were having sex.
I'm sorry. I've seen elderly humans. No, thank you. The only way I'll be having sex when I'm 90 is if my girlfriend is 19. That's why I told my wife, "You better take advantage of me now, honey, because your expiration date is coming up."
For some reason she had a headache that night.
My brother and I talked about this geriatric sex thing. He hasn't had sex since approximately 1976. Not because he doesn't want to, but because his wife is always afraid the children will hear.
"But your children haven't lived with you for twenty years," I told him.
"Exactly," he told me back.
That's why I tell all my dating friends, "Don't be in such a rush to get married. Your sex lives will diminish in direct proportion to the length of time you're married. And when the first baby comes... forget it."
The reason, I tell them, is this: When you're dating, you have sex at every opportunity because you don't know when the next opportunity will come around. When you're married, you can always put off sex "for later." Somehow, the later comes around, but the sex never does.
So my brother finds it hard to understand why his wife--a relatively young woman--doesn't want to have sex, but these old ladies do.
"Easy," I tell him. "It's because they're trying to attract a man, and they're doing it the way nature intended."
I don't want to give the impression that my brother is slow, but I have to explain it to him. These woman are all widows. Single men their age are few and far between. Between what? Who knows. Just between. Their husbands are all dead, and for some reason they would like to have another one. That sounds to me like having an irritating pebble in your shoe, taking it out, and putting it in your other shoe.
They first try to accomplish this with an old adage they've heard all their lives. "The way to a man's heart is through his stomach." Like my ex-wife, it's old and it's wrong. The way to a man's heart is not through his stomach, it's through his zipper, and these old ladies figure that out soon enough.
You see, when a man's wife dies before him, which is a rare occurrence in an Old Folk's Home, all the elderly widows will make a sympathy stop, bringing with them casseroles and homemade desserts. This is their way of showing him they're good marriage material. When that doesn't work, they tell the new widower that if he should ever need anything.... This is their way of telling him they put out. So imagine the shock and awe their children experience when they come to visit and see a dirty old man taking their dear old grandma the way Grant took Richmond.
That makes me think about my father. I don't know if those old ladies would be able to put up with him. People with Alzheimer's can be real hard to live with, but, at the same time, we can all be hard to live with when we our brains are faulty and misfiring. Maybe those old ladies wouldn't mind after all.
I once told my wife I couldn't wait for her to have Alzheimer's.
"Why?" she asked, not knowing whether she should be offended or not.
"Because," I explained, "after we have sex, you might forget and want to have it again."
For some reason she had a headache that night.
Before you answer, I heard a recent news story out of Arizona, where the children of some elderly residents of an Old Folk's Home are complaining because they discovered--the hard way--that their parents were having sex.
I'm sorry. I've seen elderly humans. No, thank you. The only way I'll be having sex when I'm 90 is if my girlfriend is 19. That's why I told my wife, "You better take advantage of me now, honey, because your expiration date is coming up."
For some reason she had a headache that night.
My brother and I talked about this geriatric sex thing. He hasn't had sex since approximately 1976. Not because he doesn't want to, but because his wife is always afraid the children will hear.
"But your children haven't lived with you for twenty years," I told him.
"Exactly," he told me back.
That's why I tell all my dating friends, "Don't be in such a rush to get married. Your sex lives will diminish in direct proportion to the length of time you're married. And when the first baby comes... forget it."
The reason, I tell them, is this: When you're dating, you have sex at every opportunity because you don't know when the next opportunity will come around. When you're married, you can always put off sex "for later." Somehow, the later comes around, but the sex never does.
So my brother finds it hard to understand why his wife--a relatively young woman--doesn't want to have sex, but these old ladies do.
"Easy," I tell him. "It's because they're trying to attract a man, and they're doing it the way nature intended."
I don't want to give the impression that my brother is slow, but I have to explain it to him. These woman are all widows. Single men their age are few and far between. Between what? Who knows. Just between. Their husbands are all dead, and for some reason they would like to have another one. That sounds to me like having an irritating pebble in your shoe, taking it out, and putting it in your other shoe.
They first try to accomplish this with an old adage they've heard all their lives. "The way to a man's heart is through his stomach." Like my ex-wife, it's old and it's wrong. The way to a man's heart is not through his stomach, it's through his zipper, and these old ladies figure that out soon enough.
You see, when a man's wife dies before him, which is a rare occurrence in an Old Folk's Home, all the elderly widows will make a sympathy stop, bringing with them casseroles and homemade desserts. This is their way of showing him they're good marriage material. When that doesn't work, they tell the new widower that if he should ever need anything.... This is their way of telling him they put out. So imagine the shock and awe their children experience when they come to visit and see a dirty old man taking their dear old grandma the way Grant took Richmond.
That makes me think about my father. I don't know if those old ladies would be able to put up with him. People with Alzheimer's can be real hard to live with, but, at the same time, we can all be hard to live with when we our brains are faulty and misfiring. Maybe those old ladies wouldn't mind after all.
I once told my wife I couldn't wait for her to have Alzheimer's.
"Why?" she asked, not knowing whether she should be offended or not.
"Because," I explained, "after we have sex, you might forget and want to have it again."
For some reason she had a headache that night.
By the way, just for the record, I'd like to clarify that my brother's not slow. Just cheap. Or, as he likes to put it, frugal.
I think he put a voodoo curse on my house.
We had a crew working on the walls today. They should be finished tomorrow. Then it's on to the next repair. My brother is very fortunate. He lives in a rental home, and all he has to do is cut the grass and pick the weeds.
This is why I want my next home to be a rental.
By the way, my father needs a room.
Can he stay with you?
This is why I want my next home to be a rental.
By the way, my father needs a room.
Can he stay with you?
Raising My Father
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
jimduchene.BlogSpot.com American Chimpanzee
@JimDuchene
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