Thursday, April 17, 2003
at 3:33 PMIn The Town Where I Was Born
The Father reluctantly agreed to drive me to Cattle Guard for the Speech Club banquet. It begins at 7:00; however, I shall arrive at 6:30 because The Father does not want to miss "Survivor". He is such a woman! It shames me how he avidly watches that series. Anyhow, I get to sit around by myself in an unfamiliar restaurant for the duration of one half hour this evening. Swell. Until then, I am killing time. Butchering time. Wasting time.
The Father goes out on a cute little lunch date with some lady friend of his tomorrow. He stopped by to have the truck cleaned by several Hispanic men wearing bright blue shirts with yellow lettering. I forgot the name of the lube joint.
Now the truck smells spicy, but one of the workers left a hand print on the passenger door as he cleaned it. I chose not to notify The Father. After all, relationships ought to be open and honest: when this lady friend sees the print, she will realize that no matter how hard The Father tries, he manages to botch or blemish everything he touches. This piece of information is very important to anyone who wishes to form an opinion on The Father's basic character.
