I had dinner with my dad again tonight. We went to that Mexican restaurant on the corner of Donelson and whatever that road with the good Chinese buffet is*. The food was fantastic and my dad was his ornery, funny self.
He insisted I call Sarcastro and tell him that my dad was sitting there crying because Sarcastro wouldn’t come out to eat with us. I don’t know if it’s funnier because Sarcastro doesn’t know my dad, and thus had no idea if some weepy old man was really sitting across the table from me or because my dad has actually only cried twice that I remember** and certainly isn’t about to start crying over people he doesn’t know.
Maybe it wasn’t that funny, but we both laughed about it for a good five minutes after I hung up. Maybe our family motto should be “Always Trying to Make Others Uncomfortable.”
Then, he insisted that our waiter make sure no one ate his chicken while he was in the bathroom and generally made a big scene.
And then, folks, I almost died when he admitted what I have been saying for half my life–he is just like my mom’s mom. He laughed and said that he felt bad for my mom, because she probably thought that she could get married and get away from her overbearing, obnoxious mom only to find she’d set up house with the male version.
So, yeah, it was really nice and good fun. What do you know?
*Yes, I suppose I should make more of an effort to remember the names of places.
**When my mom’s dad died and when he begged me to take Mrs. Wigglebottom.