After smiling for a picture next to a USF themed Christmas tree at the festival of trees, a kind woman trying to sell Mary Kay cosmetics nearby and very interested in my skin type, asked me if I worked for a dentist. To this, my father, who was trying out ALL of the cologne samples at once, (my mother is in for quite the treat), said, "No, but she is a model. Did you tell her you're a model? She gets it from me, you know."
Good Lord, just when you think you've reached the statue of limitations for being embarrassed by your parents. First of all, being in an weight loss after picture is only a "model" in the broadest sense of the word and secondly, what about mom? She contributed too. That hint of red in my my hair and green in my eyes didn't come from a Pollock. Yeah, unfortunately the only trait I inherited from him is a certain level of dorkiness. Yet how could I not? The man sang "Disco Duck" in full on Donald Duck voice countless times to me from day one. I've tried to overcome it yet, if you've read this blog, it's painfully apparent that you can't fight nature.
I don't know if this is an early sign of dementia, a spike in insulin, or some "sippy sippy" in his travel mug drink. But if he keeps this up, the nursing home may come sooner than he thinks. One phone call and mom will be sleeping snore free and enjoying his stash of sugar free ice cream without him. He's lucky I have a soft spot for him. I get that sentimentality from him, you know.
