Father’s Day plans:
1. Mad dash out first thing in a.m. to find scones to put in Dad’s gift along with lime marmalade I special ordered.
(Gift also includes horehound candies and Achmed the Dead Terrorist refrigerator magnet – don’t judge me.)
2. Buzz hubby to San Luis to pick up the one-way rental car he’ll be driving home.
3. Stop at Apple Store to return ridiculously overpriced charger/car radio iPod broadcaster that doesn’t work for crap. Gladness that I am in California where stuff is actually open on Sundays.
4. Come home and sit on keister while Dad cooks magnificent feast: Tri-tip & pork loin on the barbie plus his famous homemade potato salad. Doesn’t seem fair but, hey, it’s not like he’d let me within twenty yards of the ‘que.
5. Eyeball tri-tip at the table and seriously reconsider this whole “not eating beef” thing. Allow for the possibility of weeping openly.
6. Spend a few more hours with, then bid fond farewell to hubby as he points his nose eastward. Boo.
7. Feel guilty that I didn’t do anything special for said hubby, even though he really doesn’t care.
8. End day as most here: watching tv with my mom and the kids. Silver lining found.