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I’m here to admit that all the stuff about the underground bunker in the last post wasn’t true. My parents don’t have a bunker under their condo. I just had to set the record straight to avoid any problems from the condo association. My parents got hassled enough when they replaced their windows, so I know an underground bunker wouldn’t go down well at all.
We really do have a family Christmas tradition. It happens most years without fail and we like to affectionately call it, Pam-I-Don’t-Feel-Good. As Christmas Day progresses Pam-I-Don’t-Feel-Good can morph into another tradition that we like to call I-Have-To-Go-To-The-Emergency-Room.
This year there was no emergency room visit, but the Pam-I-Don’t-Feel-Good tradition continued. It was manifested in the form of low back pain that prevented my father from carrying anything and made him walk extremely slowly, and of course, there was a lot of complaining. What’s Christmas without an ailment and complaints? It’s nothing.
All of my dog talk has rubbed off on my father. We had this conversation today.
My Dad: I think I’m going to buy a lapdapdoodle. Me: What’s that? My Dad: You know a dog like the President has. Me: Do you mean a labradoodle? My Dad: Yeah. One of those. Me: You’re not allowed to have a dog that big in this complex. My Dad: I’m old. I have … what do you call it … seniority. I can do whatever I want. Me: Does the condo association know that? My Dad: I’ll get a puppy. Puppy’s are small. Me: Yeah and once it grows up whenever you take it for a walk, you can throw a raincoat over it and tell people it’s your cousin Walter.
I looked it up and the Obamas don’t have a labradoodle. They have a Portuguese Water Dog which is also known as a lapdapdoodle.
My dad’s birthday was Saturday, so we threw him a surprise party. My dad loves parties. Sometimes he claims he doesn’t but he’s always in the middle of the crowd lapping up the attention.
About an hour before the party some people called and said they wouldn’t be able to make it. My husband and mother started to feel nervous. “What if no one shows up?” they both wondered aloud.
Don’t they know by now that everyone loves my father. Of course, people will show up. My father has a special talent. He can say the rudest, meanest thing to some one’s face and no one seems to notice. My father can completely insult someone and when he leaves, the person will turn to me and say, “I love your father. He’s great!”
Once my father threw a party. I don’t remember what it was for, but he was late. He was late for his own party and all of the guests just sat around saying, “Where’s Stan? We can’t wait ’til Stan comes. Isn’t Stan great?” When my dad finally walked through the door everyone stood up and started clapping and cheering. I wonder what it’s like to have people applaud just because you walked into the room. He hadn’t done anything! He should’ve been scolded for showing up late for a party that was his idea. Instead he received accolades.
Of course Saturday’s surprise party was a success. The clubhouse was packed with people fawning over him and calling him dad. I think some of those people calling him dad weren’t that much younger than him. It must be great to be that adored.