“We’re going back,” my father said.
Not what I heard. The pounding, gale force winds were undoubtedly a factor. I heard ‘get in the back’ instead.
I followed my marching orders – like always – and struggled to open the back door of his sedan, eventually settling in directly behind him.
“Oh, now I’m your god damn chauffeur?” he quipped.
My old man just had me standing on the corner during a hurricane waiting for a school bus that wasn’t coming. Now he was doing standup. Hilarious.
We sat in silence on the short drive home.
Always my fault with this guy…
The Weekday One Hundred 