Upon getting home from Al’s, Dad, still in his loud bathing suit, T-shirt and Docksiders, is on the ground making funny faces at Tessie and letting her lick his forehead. He’s on his 2nd or third glass of Cab by now. Tessie is in heat, clad in a denim diaper that Dad stuffed with a maxi pad he cut in half.
“Stephanie Green did you cut her bangs?”
“Yes. She couldn’t see.”
“So what!? I liked them like that!” pouting like a kid.
“Dad, are you serious? She couldn't’t see.”
“She couldn’t see,” Mom says walking into the room.”
“She was cuter like that! She’s not cute now,” Dad contests.
“Dad, am I really witnessing you discussing your Shih tzu’s bangs. What’re you, a girl? Who gives a shit?”
“Dad, you’re on the ground, complaining about your girlie dog’s bangs while she’s wearing a denim diaper. Spay her already!”
So the parentals are off with plastic cups of wine in hand walking to the beach club two doors down. And once again, blissfully I have the house to myself. After five days of having it to myself, you’d think I’d have been prepared for a scene like that. You never know what the hell you’ll find once your folks past 60 I suppose.