This really doesn't fall under the category of things my Dad forgets, but it's still too funny not to post.
I was watching the CWS the other night in the living room and Dad had come in to sit next to me to watch A&M try to win over SC. --Didn't happen--
During the commercial break he went back into the kitchen to get his toast that had popped up done. Still no action in the game.
After a minute I hear,
"Dammit!!!"
I flinched and my attention shifted toward the kitchen.
I waited to hear if more drama was to ensue. None.
After another minute he emerged from the kitchen looking all annoyed.
I stared at him the entire time on his journey from the kitchen to the sofa.
He sat down next to me and I waited for an explanation.
D: "This plate is slippery!!!"
(to illustrate, he moves the plate back and forth and the two pieces of toast with strawberry jam slippery slide around the plate)
Me: "Uh-huh." (keep going)
D: "I picked up the plate to walk away and the toast fell right to the ground! Right to the ground! Face down, too! Jam stuck to the floor and everything!"
Me: "Bwahhhhahhahahahha!!!"
D: "I'm still eating it, though. Germs and everything."
I love my dad. He's the best man I know! That said...he's also annoyingly forgetful. His mental efficiency is waning. Perhaps it's just his age, or perhaps it's the cocktail of medication he takes to keep his heart running that's done his brain in. Either way, the comedy (or horror depending on how you look at it) he creates every day, I believe, should be shared...and relentlessly mocked. Cheers!
Monday, June 20, 2011
Friday, June 3, 2011
#3
I was in the kitchen making lunch today and dad was 10 feet away in the office on the phone, shouting into it as usual, talking to some company about I don't know what.
Allow me to mention that his corner of the office comprises of an L-shaped desk where piles and piles ofcrap scattered work papers lie in a muddle of which no desk space can be seen.
So I'm focusing on making lunch, and I hear him shouting, but I'm tuning him out as per usual so that whatever ridiculous thing he's shouting about doesn't mess up my zen, when all of I sudden I hear my name being shouted. He has on his, "I need your help." voice. I'm working on making the perfect sweet potato dish, so I was going to take my time in replying, however, 6 seconds later I hear my name being called in a, "I need your help immediately!" voice.
I walk into the office and dear old dad is trying to conduct some sort of deal over the phone because he has his phone in one hand, the other hand is searching under the piles ofcrap paper in front of him, and his face is wearing this baffled/aggravated expression. He asks the person to please hold, and then says to me:
"Where is my credit card?! It was here a minute ago!!!"
By this point I'm standing right next to him, watching him get all upset while he spins back in forth in the swivel chair trying to figure out where the hell his card got legs and ran off to without his permission.
It took me all of one second to point to the fugitive credit card laying at his feet.
He picks it up, shakes his head, furrows his brow
and confoundedly says, "Thank you!"
Mom happened to witness this episode.
As I walked away we exchanged, "Holy hellfire Batman! Sumting dun gone wrong wit dat man ovah dere!" glances.
True story.
His poor brain disappointed him.
It was, after all, right there a second ago.
The card. Not his brain.
Well... That, too.
Allow me to mention that his corner of the office comprises of an L-shaped desk where piles and piles of
So I'm focusing on making lunch, and I hear him shouting, but I'm tuning him out as per usual so that whatever ridiculous thing he's shouting about doesn't mess up my zen, when all of I sudden I hear my name being shouted. He has on his, "I need your help." voice. I'm working on making the perfect sweet potato dish, so I was going to take my time in replying, however, 6 seconds later I hear my name being called in a, "I need your help immediately!" voice.
I walk into the office and dear old dad is trying to conduct some sort of deal over the phone because he has his phone in one hand, the other hand is searching under the piles of
"Where is my credit card?! It was here a minute ago!!!"
By this point I'm standing right next to him, watching him get all upset while he spins back in forth in the swivel chair trying to figure out where the hell his card got legs and ran off to without his permission.
It took me all of one second to point to the fugitive credit card laying at his feet.
He picks it up, shakes his head, furrows his brow
and confoundedly says, "Thank you!"
Mom happened to witness this episode.
As I walked away we exchanged, "Holy hellfire Batman! Sumting dun gone wrong wit dat man ovah dere!" glances.
True story.
His poor brain disappointed him.
It was, after all, right there a second ago.
The card. Not his brain.
Well... That, too.
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