My father puts his foot down...directly on my neck
SO.
I was talking to my Dad last night, about this birthday thing for him and for mother, and I was telling him that it was all planned--that it was going to happen May 3rd, and everything was sorted, and all I needed was his Christmas card list so that I'd know where to send the invitations, when he says to me...
"Where are we having it?"
"We're having it here, Dad."
"Absolutely NOT!" he thundered. "You're not going to go to that much trouble! You're not--I ABSOLUTELY FORBID IT!!!"
Um...he "FORBIDS" it?
Last time I looked, I was 51 years old. It's been a long time since anyone not in a black helicopter has "forbidden" me to do anything.
"But Dad, I can't invite people to a restaurant somewhere and then say, 'Oh, sorry, you'll be paying for your own dinner...' That can't happen. It's not that big a deal for us to do it, really--I'll have time off that week for Paul's birthday anyway, and it'll be OK..."
"NO."
Well. So.
I'm "forbidden".
What the fuck am I going to do now?
Does anyone out there have any chloroform? Or something?
PS--I think that this is my mother's fault--she's actually convinced him that cooking is WORK....
I was talking to my Dad last night, about this birthday thing for him and for mother, and I was telling him that it was all planned--that it was going to happen May 3rd, and everything was sorted, and all I needed was his Christmas card list so that I'd know where to send the invitations, when he says to me...
"Where are we having it?"
"We're having it here, Dad."
"Absolutely NOT!" he thundered. "You're not going to go to that much trouble! You're not--I ABSOLUTELY FORBID IT!!!"
Um...he "FORBIDS" it?
Last time I looked, I was 51 years old. It's been a long time since anyone not in a black helicopter has "forbidden" me to do anything.
"But Dad, I can't invite people to a restaurant somewhere and then say, 'Oh, sorry, you'll be paying for your own dinner...' That can't happen. It's not that big a deal for us to do it, really--I'll have time off that week for Paul's birthday anyway, and it'll be OK..."
"NO."
Well. So.
I'm "forbidden".
What the fuck am I going to do now?
Does anyone out there have any chloroform? Or something?
PS--I think that this is my mother's fault--she's actually convinced him that cooking is WORK....