“If you bring your medications for me to check, then I will give you some grilled hamburgers from last night,” my father said.
He wanted to check and see if I am on schedule and no blister packs have been punched when they weren’t supposed to be.
“Let me take a shower first,” I told him.
About an hour later, I was heading to my father’s house bribed by the prospect of homemade grilled hamburgers. He surveyed my medications and couldn’t find anything wrong. He always assumes the worst regarding them and I. He’s afraid I will open up additional blister packs and get “high” off the Klonopin. Let me tell you, Klonopin is the crapiest high I have experienced over the years. All you do is want to go to sleep.
“Oh, you look so good!” my father then said finally noticing my carefully combed hair and my upscale attire. “You need to quit wearing all those sloppy looking t-shirts with your shorts!”
Dad bagged up three meat patties and three hamburger buns and sent me on my way.
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