I was up early and at ‘em this morning and Tracy remarked upon it.
“Where are you going so early this morning?” she asked, drying her hair with a towel.
“To the dreaded DMV!” I replied mournfully.
“I don’t envy you of that by any means,” she said sympathetically. “You will be there all morning.”
My commercial driver’s license had expired and I knew to be at the DMV as soon as they opened so I wouldn’t have to wait very long. I had so many frets, though. Will they ask for a Hazmat endorsement? Will I get fingerprinted again? Will they take my debit card? Will I have to retake my CDL driver’s exam? Everything went smoothly despite all my most deep seated fears. It only took ten minutes and I was on my way. All that worrying for nothing. It cost $77 dollars, though, which I thought was highway robbery.
Dad finally turned over grocery buying to Tracy and I. Isn’t it about time? After all these years of going to the grocery store with me as my moderator. He didn’t go and supervise tonight which would have embarrassed me to be honest. He did call Tracy and told her to moderate me in his stead. We’ve already been to Kroger and bought our groceries for the week and then Tracy headed to her class at 7pm. We got lots of one skillet “meal kits” to make it easy for me to have a supper ready when Tracy gets off of work – lots of Chinese meal kits and Italian meal kits.
I also got my two bags of Mary B’s “thin” biscuits for breakfast. Dad got me on these and those things are delicious and taste like homemade. A little butter and a slice of sharp cheddar and you are in heaven. Forget the cheese and add some strawberry preserves and you are in a state of nirvana. The only drawback is they are 120 calories per biscuit and you want to eat six.
Papa is Drunk Again…
I don’t know what to do with him. At least, he is an affectionate drunk wanting to hold my hand and telling me how much he loves me. I went to visit my father tonight and he was drunk as a Cooter. Charlie was just leaving and didn’t warn me as to what I may find. After all we’ve been through to keep me sober, he goes and drinks more and more frequently.
“You’re tipsy,” I told him tonight.
“I goddamn am not!” he exclaimed.
He kept going on and on about my learning to play the pipe organ and flying to Argentina.
“I’ll pay for lessons. You’re blessed with a gift I didn’t get!” he told me drunkenly.
He’s got the gene. All of his uncles on his mother’s side were notorious drunks. I stayed a little while until I couldn’t take it any longer. I am glad Tracy was in class when I went.
2 comments:
I had a friend who, when he was drunk, would hug and kiss me. When he was REALLY drunk, he hugged and kissed my husband.
Better then a mean drunk!
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