Dang, You're A Big One!

The only thing my elderly father enjoys more than shopping with my wife at one of those members-only warehouse stores is sticking his nose into other people's business. Recently, he got to do both.
     We were in line to pay for our too much of everything, and my father was looking at his box of corn dogs. He was in the mood for ONE, so, of course, my wife insisted on buying him a carton of 42.
     When my dad finally put it down, he looked up and saw the customer standing in front of us, who was very tall.
     "Dang, you're a big one," my father told him, stating the obvious. "How tall are you gonna be when you reach your full growth?"
     "I'm six-ten," the man answered. He was polite, but obviously tired of continuously being singled out.
     "Wow!" our eavesdropping cashier chimed in. "I'M four-eleven, and you're TWICE as tall as I am."
     My father considered this, then leaned forward and confidentially told the man, "You better count your change."

 

 

Raising My Father

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