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
Sunday, June 9, 2013
Honky Tonk
Some
people my age spend their weekend nights on the town. Me? I’m at Bob’s
house. Here’s why: The closest we have ever come to full-out party mode
was for about 4 minutes tonight. Bob flips the TV to the Country Music
Channel where they are playing recent music videos. So there we are. Me
with my pretzel goldfish on the couch, and he with his bag of chips that
has been in the house longer than US
troops have been in Afghanistan. Together we listen to Trace Atkins’ hit
single “Honky Tonk Badonkadonk” on volume 92, as the television gyrates
on the wall. The lucidity of the big-screen periodically lighting up my
grimacing face in the dark room. And you know what? I’m still enjoying
it more than most clubs.
