I'm Turning Into My Father

I guess it was inevitable.

Dad had knee surgery, and he's overweight, so he stoops when he walks. This means that on average, between two and four inches of upper butt area is exposed above the pant line. In the family, we're somewhat used to this. In public, he does draw a few stares. "Say no to crack!" is frequently heard at our house.

So I was at work this past weekend, and the young pregnant lady I wrote about earlier says to me, "I can see your underwear." I froze. I felt behind me and sure enough, the top inch of my FTL's was riding up over my pant line. (Yes, my underwear is Faster Than Light.) My first thought was, "My God, I'm turning into my father."

Well at least I don't leave goofy notes around for people to find and be puzzled by. One time My mother and I came home and Dad was out, but he'd left us a note. The note said, "Frodo did not pup." It took us a minute to figure out that "pup" was Dad's Hungarian-English way of saying "poop". I guess he felt it was important enough to leave us a note. A warning of sorts. Goodness knows that Frodo's dancing at the door and whining wasn't enough of a clue.

So last night and today I've been having ISP problems. I finally got connected to the Internet and got my security manager re-installed and I decided to run a virus scan. I left the PC doing it's thing while I left to take Dad down to the hospital for some routine tests. I didn't want Mom to use the PC while I was gone so I wrote, "NO!" on a napkin and hung it over the monitor. I figured that wasn't enough so a I made a paper tent over the keyboard that said, "I said NO!"

It hit me later. Yep, I'm turning into my father.

One time, Dad came home from work really tired and he never bothered to put on pants after he'd gotten out of his overalls. So he's making spaghetti in a tee-shirt and underwear. He gets his spaghetti on the plate, all piled up with awesome meat sauce. He's got a can of beer in his other hand. He carries everything downstairs to sit in front of the TV and vegetate. He went to plop into his La-Z-Boy chair when the footrest popped open and knocked his legs out from under him.

It was spectacular. His beer can hit the floor and erupted, firing a white plume of foam up all over everything. He landed in a prone position, perfectly poised beneath the falling plate of spaghetti. The entire plateful of noodles and meat sauce slid off the plate directly into his lap. Of course he shouted, "Whoa Crap!"

It was grand.

So I'm in the kitchen the other day, too lazy to put on pants after I'd gotten out of my work clothes and I'm cooking bacon... I bet you can guess what happened.

Yeah, I'm definitely turning into my father.

P.S. Hot bacon hurts. Especially when it hits sensitive areas. Don't ever let it happen. Just don't.
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