Blood tests aren’t a lot of fun so when dad needed one done we all knew it was destined to end poorly, but none of us would have guessed the police would be involved.
For some reason my father thought it was such a lovely morning he would leave the car at home and walk to the pathology centre. Why a man who struggles shuffling the distance between the lounge and his bar fridge should decide to walk two hilly kilometers is beyond me, but there you go. Dad has been doing things I don’t understand for years: he’s wears white y-fronts around the house for a start.
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