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You can't be serious

One of the perks of living with my widowed father is that we're here to take care of him when something goes awry----as things are often wont to do. We spent a good many hours in the local ER on Saturday night with him. He hadn't been feeling too well so we took his blood pressure and it was so high it could have rung a carnival bell.

My father and I have a unique relationship. Unique in that we're rarely serious with each other. He often laments my inability to be serious, especially in situations that would usually call for a serious demeanor.

I don't do serious. At least not with him in an ER at midnight.

Nurse: "Have you had anything very stressful or frightening happen to you today?"

Dad: (pointing at me) "Well I live with her"

Nurse: (Not sure what to do as she glances at me) "Uh..."

Me: "Don't make me hurt you old man"

Dad: "You see? You see how she is?"

Me: "Oh YOU'RE going to see how I am Mr."

While the nurse was placing the leads on his chest for his EKG, she said not to worry that it wouldn't hurt and he would be able to remove them quite easily afterwards.

I asked her if she could stick them to him with needles instead.

Alas, she demurred.

All in all, it was a rip roaring evening. Lance was with me and as is our custom, we called that night out a date so we could say we've had a date in September. You know, just because.

Dad is fine but balking at making an appointment with his cardiologist which causes me to believe that I'm going to have to step in and do it for him. I'm getting pretty good at imitating his voice.

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  1. I think I would be terrified if my daughter came to live with me.

  2. LOL! Dave, Dave, Dave.....

    You must remember that this was HIS idea and in fact I do believe he's getting a kick out of having someone around to talk to. Truth be told, I'm enjoying the time I get to spend with him.


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