A Very Merry Un-birthday

I have learned that as long as my Dad is a) gone from the house, or b) wearing slippers, I can have a good day.

This morning Sam woke me up with these words, "Happy Birthday! I think your dad must know it's your birthday. He's in the kitchen right now, wearing the same clothes as yesterday, no shoes or socks, and frying the living crap out of an egg. To add to that, he is making a "beef" hamburger patty on the Foreman."

Have you ever smelled flavor raped eggs? How about jumbo-pack type hamburger patties of questionable origin?

I don't even want to talk about the odors coming from the dirty clothes hamper while I was doing laundry all day yesterday.

Or how my Dad's taken to wearing shooting range muffs around the house to block out the noise from Wright & Violet, the only grandchildren he will ever get the chance to know.

Or how they started rough-housing earlier about 2-inches from his funginfectious feet. !!!

It will get cold and he will have to wear slippers, slippers, slippers. Only 5 more months of this (maybe)?

Starbucks, take me away.