While my life is getting pretty dramatic, what with flying resignations and major confusion about whether I should just join the nosey parker, Oprah watchers or whether I should continue to my extremely futile and time consuming pursuit of greatness, Father A fell sick.
He's been having chest pains which have nothing to do with the edible underwear collection we use to spread on toast and serve with two eggs sunny side up. But with the fact that my ball and chain has high cholesterol.
Now this is the person who will wake up every morning and go for a walk while a certain person who shares his bed gets exercise by rolling over to his side and stealing his blanket. He is the part of the relationship that can't actually eat a years supply of chocolate in one year and not one minute. And like maybe not eat the family pet when the refrigerator is empty. Other people can still get into the lift with him without fearing that it may collapse or stop working. And here he is. With a lipids profile that matches one of Oprah's guests.
After a few scares where I was facing a life with no one to flip channels during the 85Th time I was watching the same episode of Des prate Housewives. And one where I broke down and cried in office and everyone gathered around me to tell me that yes, most certainly he was going to die and if so would I be selling his car? I was told that it's a high possibility that he will be around to hide my dentures and tell me that those age spots are indeed skin cancer.
It's like the whole cosmos is saying FUCK OFF! to me. And quite frankly I'm saying back, "UP YOURS"
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