Monday, Nov. 29, 2004 | 8:38 p.m.
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When There's Too Much Eggnog in Your Brandy
So I got to thinking that it sounds like my Thanksgiving was all bad -- and it wasn't. I really enjoyed my time with my parents -- I usually do -- even if Dad is kind of hypocritical and dumb when it comes to politics. Heh.
One particularly entertaining episode happened Thanksgiving after Dad had one too many drinks -- brandy with a shot of eggnog. During the course of cooking dinner, my mom and I had filled the trashcan. I had gone out to sit by my dad on the couch that is right outside the kitchen window.
My mom said, "Merle, come take out the trash."
He looked at me questioningly.
"You need to take out the trash. We filled it getting dinner going," I explained helpfully.
He rose and walked to the door, a total of about, oh... five or six feet. He stopped and looked at me again.
"What was I doing?"
"The trash, Dad. Take out the trash."
He walked in the door and someone distracted him by handing him the phone -- big mistake. He walked right through the kitchen, through the living room, where he hung up the phone (I'm assuming the conversation was over, but who knows?) and then walked out the sliding door, around the side of the house and sat down on the couch.
Five minutes later, water rained down on him through the kitchen window.
"Merle. The trash!"
He looked at me again, yes, with the look of the RCA dog.
"Is the trash full?"
"Yes, Dad. Go take it out!"
Five feet to the door again. Pause.
"Dad! The trash!"
Opened the door, walked two feet in (which is approximately where the trash can lives). Stopped. My mom's voice rings out:
"Merle! Take out the trash!"
Finally, the trash went out.
Several hours and much sobriety later, my mom and I sat in the living room with my dad, who had napped and stopped drinking. We were watching tv.
My mom joked that the trash needed to go out, obviously thinking he would remember the earlier fiasco. Nope. He got up and walked into the kitchen and stared at the mostly empty trash can.
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