News! Also, fun with colors!

I talked to my dad at lunch yesterday for a few minutes so when he called again at 15 minutes after 9 I instinctively prepared myself for "some news". We’re not usually big phone talkers and most conversations are held at lunch or during a drive home from work, rarely do we talk on weeknights unless something is up. The something isn’t always bad and is mostly good but my uncle has been very sick lately so I had the dread.

Last nights conversation went a little like this:

Dad: How are ya’ll doing?*

Ok dad, just get to it why are you calling me for the second time today? I know you have news.

Me: We’re doing good, ya’ll?

Dad: Good. Hey, I’ve got some news.

Here we go...

Me: You do? What kind of news?

Dad: Good and bad, which do you want first?

Dammit. I knew it. The good is always something to try to make the bad not so bad or is completely unrelated.

Me: I’ll take the bad first so the good will maybe make me happier.

Dad: I’ll give you the good news first.

OK, nevermind.

Dad: I went to the doctor yesterday. My bad cholesterol is down and my good cholesterol is up.

OK, why is he just now calling me if he went yesterday? What tests hasn’t he had done lately, what could it be, do I need to call work tonight because I’m going to freak out? Why won’t Chris just turn down the damn television doesn’t he know that my tapping him and pointing down means that? Did dad just say something about his cholesterol is better? OK, it might not be his heart then.

Me: Good for you Daddy.

Dad: I’ve lost thirty pounds.

OK, so that still just maybe eliminates heart. That’s little help to me right now. Does he have cancer? Why won’t he just freaking tell me already.

Me: Alright! That’s good.

Dad: They took me off my blood pressure medicine and my blood pressure was 128 over 86**.

Why is he talking slower, he’s getting to the bad news. I can feel it. I can tell in the tone of his voice. I think my heart is going to burst. I need to know so that I can just deal with it. The tears are there, Chris is beside me, I can do this.

Me: That’s a good number...

Dad: Now the bad news.

oh, here comes the freak out stay calm so you can hear him

Me: mm-hmm

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

Dad: He wants me to exercise.

blink blink - huh?

Me: Are you serious? That’s the bad news?

Dad: Haha yeah. Isn’t that horrible? I’m in the recliner all stretched out with my feet crossed at the ankles and he wants me to exercise.

Me: You’re an ass.

Dad: That’s what your sister said. She thought I was going to tell her an alien was coming out of my stomach or something.

~*~

In this same conversation I learned that my mom told some drunk college boy party goer that she saw his little winkie when he peed on her car.

Can anybody recommend a good therapist? Because I’m pretty sure this crap is hereditary and I’m already showing signs of being mean for my own amusement and my kids will certainly need therapy because between me, Chris and their grandparents they don't stand a chance.


*His standard greeting ESPECIALLY when he has news.
** Or some such number like that - he couldn't remember it exactly either.