Father: "Son I saw you on the news with a sign protesting Wall Street."
Son: "Yeah Dad. It was cool. We sat around, told them how we feel and let them know that Wall Street won't get away with what they're doing. In fact, I'm calling from the protest. We're going to stay until they listen to our demands"
Father: "It looked more like you were eating pizza and texting"
Son: "I had to let my girlfriend know I would be on television."
Father: "Well, Son. I have something to discuss with you."
Son: "And, what's that Dad?"
Father: "A group of investors recognized you from last years Christmas party and transferred their portfolios to another firm."
Son: "So, what does that have to do with me?"
Father: " That account was about 20% of my annual income, which prompted your mother, and I, to hurry our plans."
Son: "And, what plans are those, Dad?"
Father: "First thing: Your mother and I are moving. We discussed this last month at Sunday dinner and would have liked to tell you then, but you didn't show, or call."
Son: "Well, I was real busy with school and the time slipped away."
Father: "Speaking of school, a counselor called last week to ask why you didn't respond to the letter they sent. I told them I didn't know of any letter, which apparently, pertains to you failing all the classes you took this semester. They called again yesterday. We discussed your grades and the tuition check I sent last month. They wanted to know if they should send it back, or just run it through the paper shredder. I told them the paper shredder was fine. They thanked me for saving them the cost of a stamp and asked about your dorm room. I was a little confused until they explained they haven't seen much of you, needed a place for an Indian pre-med student, so we worked out a deal. They'll pro-rate the time it was used and send me a check for the difference. Since I'm cutting costs, it was too sweet of a deal to ignore."
Son: "So, I guess I'll have to come stay with you and Mom.
Father: "I think we have a little problem, Son. Jim at the office has been bugging me for months to sell him the house. To sweeten the deal, he agreed to persuade a friend to move on selling his town house. Long story short, the movers will be through by Friday, your things are in storage and we'll be in our new town house by the end of the weekend. It has two bedrooms, but we need one for my office. I'm afraid we don't have room for you."
Son: "So, where will I go?"
Father: "I knew you'd ask, so I talked to the youth minister at church. He said he remembers you from high school and you'd remember him, since he used to work the counter at the chicken place by the mall. We had real long conversation and he suggested the YMCA. He lived there while he was working on his degree. He said they'll work with you on the cost and offer counseling. What's really strange is that when he told me his degree was in accounting, I suggested he send his resume to human resources. They must be interested. He has an interview tomorrow and from what I hear, it's almost a sure thing, since he's going to school at night to work on his masters degree. Give him two years and he'll be a CPA."
Son: "I guess I can go stay with my girlfriend."
Father: "Isn't she the Debbie from the country club?"
Son: "Yeah. That's her."
Father: "Hmmm. That's strange. I could swear I saw her name in the bridal announcements last Sunday. It must have been a mistake, although I thought I saw her the other day having dinner with an older fellow. Then again, the hair wasn't the same."
Son: "Well, she has lighter hair now and she keeps it shorter."
Father: "Sort of an ash blond?"
Son: "Yeah, I guess."
Father: "It probably wasn't her. Anyway, I have to take this call. It's a new customer that I've been calling for over a week. Bye Son."
Son: "But Dad!"
In Case You've Wondered
My blog is where my wandering thoughts are interspersed with stuff I made up. So, if while reading you find yourself confused about the context, don't feel alone. I get confused, too.
If you're here for the stories, I started another blog: scratchingforchange.blogspot.com
One other thing: sometimes I write words you refuse to use in front of children, or polite company, unless you have a flat tire, or hit your thumb with a hammer.
I don't use them to offend; I use them to embellish.