Bob is my 80 year old grandfather, but I call him Bob instead of grandfather. Always have. I moved from my parent's house in January 2010 to Bob's house. Bob is eccentric, even as far as old men go. I always appreciated it, but I was never quite exposed to it this much. Now, I want everyone to know about my experiences. You may laugh, but I shake my head. All of these short stories are true. They are not fabricated or exaggerated. They are Bob at his finest. If 'finest' is the right word
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Early Bird
A barechested Bob woke me up at 7:15 AM. Church would not commence for another two hours, but there was an urgent need for me to button his Sunday shirt. I did, without complaining. At 7:25, he reentered the room. "I need you to do my cuffs too." I did, with clearly visible, yet undetected, consternation. At 7:30, a loud 'BEEP' forces my eyes open again, "What are you doing!?" Bob, awkwardly bent over the voicemail machine located just inside my bedroom door, replies, "Checking my messages." "It's 7:30 in the morning! Why are you doing all these things?" "Oh!" came his surprised response, and he left the room. As soon as my head hit the pillow, a timid knock breaks the short silence. "WHAT!?" An 80-year-old head peeps out from behind the door, "I misread the clock---" "OK. OK. That's fine. I know." "I thought it said 8:30 instead of 7:30."
