Dad was complaining that my kitchen was a little messy last night. I said instead of criticizing me, then try to help me. I needed some paper towels as I am out of usable dish rags as we always called them. Well, mom called after lunch and told me to come pick up a big packet of paper towels.
Dad was preparing candles for the dinner party on Sunday when I arrived. A lady and friend of the family was on her way to help coordinate the efforts -- a glorified interior decorator. Dad was talking about how my mother and I are royalty. I told him if we were royalty, then he was the King! He calls all the shots and runs my mother's and my life. I told him I was more of a court jester -- a trifle more to be pitied and laughed at.
While I was out, I ran into Fred's which resides just down the street from my parent's house. They had yet another new cashier and I asked her name.
"Elsie," she said shyly.
"My name is Andrew," I replied.
She was another frumpy looking middle-aged white lady. Kathy, the manager, was sitting inside what I call her throne -- a very raised booth where she can see all of the store from her perch. It looks like a large hockey penalty box. I waved as I passed by headed for the section with the mixed nuts and soft drinks. I got a tin of salted and roasted pecans and headed home.
Confusion...
I was confused by Pipe Tobacco's assumption that my father wanted me to quit smoking. He worried when I quit and often tried to put a few packs in with my daily Cokes. He had read that almost 95% of schizophrenics smoked and that playing into the same brain chemistry that was malfunctioning. He was full well prepared to pay the lofty price of cigarettes to help in some sort of way.
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