Good For Me -- Bad for You...

I was going to play a seemingly sadistic joke on my father and it all went terribly, tragically wrong...

"Dad? They keep calling here from the pharmacy wanting you to come in for work," I told my father over the phone with a dour tone to my voice.

"I know," my father said. "I am driving to the pharmacy right now but I only have to work 3 hours. What could I say? Angie needs me."

What are the odds that could happen when my father never gets called in?

"I was just joking dad. They haven't been calling me," I replied. "I feel terrible now."

"I will see you at five and we will take your meds and I will bring your sodas," he then told me not saying anything about my joke/tragic blunder.

"Sounds great to me," I told him excitedly and also feeling unworthy of such kindness.

I felt like such a supreme goober. That's what I used to call Kevin "The Homeless Guy" Barbieux. He was a goober, too, as we affectionately call such people in the South!