Mr. Clean, but With More Hair...

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"Just what in the hell is he doing?" my father asked me last night on dad's and Charlie's first stop with the chuck-wagon. Yes, it was Sunday night fried chicken time! Dad was worried everybody's food would grow cold.

I just shrugged my shoulders innocently as dad and I went through the medication process sitting in the den on my couch. I thought my kitchen was pretty clean to be honest.

It never ceases to amuse my father that I can take all of that handful of pills with one gulp of water and not get choked.

"I heard that!" Charlie quipped moments later. "I am doing what I was born to do!"

Fish gotta swim and birds gotta fly!

Pots and pans clanged as drinking glasses jingled like a crystal chandelier. Charlie walked out of my kitchen victorious. Maggie's nerves were about shot to hell as well as that kitchen is hers, too. You could tell she was distressed. All was well when the raucous noise quit, though.

"There," Charlie said proudly. "Andrew, your kitchen is cleaned!"

I couldn't do much but fawn all over Charlie. The kitchen sure looked nice and clean. I told him to bring his car over next weekend and I would wash it. I said the same to my father as well. The BMW needs a bath something terrible.