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
Packed Schedule
I get
in to Bob's at 4:20 in the afternoon on Wednesday. He is sleeping on
the coach, but wakes up when I open the door. "What did you do today?"
Bob sheepishly chuckles, knowing it is just wrong: "I... ate breakfast,
and then I folded my clothes. Two things." He senses my silent
judgement, "I'm retired!" "You're a notch above comatose is what you
are." "And now I'm having a conversation with you. Three things."
