We better watch out for the farmer’s tomcat, but the mice are out and at play. I’m ready to have some fun. In this puritanically downtrodden nation I will probably get in trouble for having fun. Just don’t burn me at the stake as a heretic and a hedonist.
When my father was leaving last night, I mustered up some courage to ask him some questions before he was gone. I bluntly asked my father just what in the holy hell does he do at the pharmacy till 9:00pm and 10:00pm every night. He consistently works 12 hour days.
“I mainly just pay bills, mail statements, and watch TV,” He replied. “Charlie reconciles the registers. And horsefly paces the store with a new bottle of shaving cream every night.”
I scoffed a little, but hid it well. I’ve told him countless upon countless times that I like to go to bed around 8pm so he is really imposing upon my good will and nature. I also have bigger fish to fry than this so I will continue to ignore my father’s transgressions. I will just take the path of least resistance I will say, as I digress a bit, that I have grown fond of my fathers visits. I actually look out the window to see if he is coming most nights. Sometimes you just want to go to bed instead of waiting what seems like hours for a daily visit from a loved one, though.
1 comments:
I suspect that his nightly visit helps him to end the day and to be able to go home and sleep well, knowing that you're all right and things are as they should be. It's a sort of ritual, I'd bet, and it sounds rather like it is for you too. There are worse things than waiting up for someone who loves you, even when sometimes that loved one irritates the holy crap out of you.
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