A Short Conversation

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My son and his two feral children visited me yesterday afternoon.  As always, I was happy to see them, but ill health tempered my enthusiasm.  I visited the local doctor earlier in the day only to learn my sore back was a kidney infection.  It was a new one on me.  Maybe some exotic Tex-Mex delight from San Antonio was the problem.  We may never know.  The Doc gave me two scripts.  One script was for the infection.  The second was to turn my urine bright, fluorescent orange.  She alerted me to this side effect so I would not panic or faint over into the bowl when it happened.

“Roger,” I replied.  I could see how such a medication could have high value in the practical joke department.  Unfortunately, I felt too weak to do more than make a mental note.

I went home, took my first dose of meds and keeled over onto the sofa.  I was out like a doornail.  Hours later, the gentle banging and kicking on the back door by small fists and feet roused me from my coma.

I rolled off the sofa and crawled to the door.  Standing up, I opened it and there they were.  Joshua (1.75 years) and August (3.67 years) were mugging my back door.  My son, Ben, brought up the rear.  He had a pleasant, if somewhat insane or crazed look about him.  I see this look from time to time on the face of overmatched parents.  Heck, I used to see it on my face, and often.

I invited them in and returned to the sofa.  I explained that I was not entirely well but by the time I finished my sentence, all the children were gone.  They needed apple juice, chocolates and other staples stored a Grandfather’s house.  Ben went with the children and gave each little boy a ration of whatever they wanted.

When they returned, we actually had a few minutes of peace due to the youngster’s mouths being stuffed full of goodies.

“So,” I asked my son, “what do you make of this Congressman Weiner scandal?”

 We looked at each other for about ten seconds in absolute silence.

“Bwah, Ha, Ha, Ha!  Hoo buddy, that’s rich!”  Har, har, har, de har, har,” we chimed.

It took a couple of minutes to regain our composure.  Finally, Ben offered a thought.  “Just what do you think was in his mind that lead him to believe this episode could end well?”

“Bwah, ha, ha…”

By then, the goodies were gone and the children wanted to head to the playroom upstairs.  Ben and the boys headed up.  I joined them a bit later.  I used up all my oxygen and physical strength during our five-minute political discussion.  I needed a minute to recover before heading to the playroom (aka bomb crater central).

On my way, I stopped in the bathroom and closed the door.

“Oh my gawd!  Eeeeeek!”  I screeched.

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