For my dad’s 72nd birthday we had him and Mum around for breakfast this morning.
“I heard I made your blog thingame,” he told me. Word travels fast – I only put it up eight hours earlier, before going to bed. “Give us a look then.”
I admit I was a little nervous. Aside from Tracey, I’m not used to watching the person I’ve written about, and let’s be honest, often in less than flattering terms, read my posts.
“So,” he said when he’d finished it. “You think you’ve heard all my stories, eh?”
“That’s not what I said,” I told him.
“Yes, you did,” he said, tapping the screen.
“No. I said I’ve heard them all about a hundred times,” I corrected him.
So he proceeded to tell me one I hadn’t heard.
On his first day at the Brisbane head office for the Commonwealth Bank he eventually and inevitably needed to visit the men’s room.
“There was one of those seats they used to have where the bit near your tackle was missing,” he told me. “Instead of an O it was more of a U, you understand?”
I nodded I did.
“I’d never seen anything like it before. So I’ve finished and I stand up and pull my pants up, and they’re wet! I’ve missed getting it in the bowl and pee’d all over my jocks and pants. So I spent ten minutes standing naked from the waist down in front of the hand dryer trying to dry them.”
Wouldn’t that have made a great impression with his new work colleagues if they’d happened into the loo around that time.
“It still would have stunk, wouldn’t it?” I asked him.
“Yeah, well I didn’t leave my desk the rest of the day. Just in case. But you’re right. Even the next day when I came for work I could still smell it on my chair’s cushion.”
“That’s awful. Did you get a new cushion?”
“Of course,” he said, looking at me like I was daft. Then he grinned. “I went and swapped it for one in the manager’s office.”
You know what? I’m happy with only hearing this story the once. Please.
Happy Birthday, Dad. Love you big man. x
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