Young at heart

Dad got up quite early this morning.  As soon as I heard him shuffle into the bathroom, I jumped up and folded up my bed and had the living room looking 'normal' before he came in.  Still bleary eyed, I put the kettle on and started getting our breakfast ready.

"Good morning wee dug!" he said, greeting Poppy who was jumping up and down like Tigger on steroids, so excited to see him and on the verge of being (bloody) annoying.  I'm always worried that she'll trip dad up as he makes his way to the settee.  Offering biscuits usually works as a distraction...to the dug that is, not my dad.

Getting him washed and dressed went without issue this morning.  As I went to spray him with aftershave he winced and said "Ooyah!"  It doesn't hurt him at all, but he can be a bit dramatic about it.  I stopped buying him spray deodorant for the same reason because every morning he yelped as if I'd poked him in the eye with a stick.  I would laugh and make a joke about it but the joke wore off as I could see that this minor task could escalate into a mini tantrum.

I can't be having tantrums at my age!

Of course I meant my dad...just kidding.  Roll on deodorants only from now on. 

After him wincing with the tiniest spray of aftershave (which I spray more onto the front of his jumper and not onto his skin) I asked him if it was sore.  He said, "Naw!  It stinks!"  Not a reason to yelp for sure, but I kept the mood light and said, "It smells lovely."  Then he said seriously, "There's a difference between smell and stink."  Is there??  Maybe he's right.  Wanting to close the argument and move along I said "So there is."

I still had to get myself into the shower and ready for the day.  As I was sorting out my clothes I could hear dad in the living room opening the DVD drawer.  I went to see if he'd picked out Columbo thinking if he had I'd knock it right out of his hand put it on for him.  Thank f**k goodness he hadn't found it yet so I reached into the drawer and picked out an old movie, 'Young at Heart'.

"How about this?" I offered.  Showing him the cover I asked, "Do you know who they are?"

"Frank Sinatra!" he replied, straight away.  "Wow!" I thought...impressed...until I realised my dad can still read the names written above their heads.  *clown*  I put the movie on and sat for a little while enjoying it with him before I felt it safe to leave him with a cup of tea and a packet of crisps to go have my shower and not return to find the telly upside down and DVD's strewn in search of the shabby detective.  As for having crisps at that time in the morning...they're the best bargaining tool I've got!

The musical went down well, even though we left before it ended to go on our trip to the shopping centre and coffee, which ended in us staying for lunch too.  I told him I'd be bringing him back early next week to get him more new trousers to pack in his suitcase.  "Why?  Where am I going?" he asked.  "Blackpool dad!  Me and you...a week tomorrow." I replied.

"I know," he said.  "I can't wait!"  😆

I have a cake order for tomorrow.  I finally got on with decorating it to completion when we got home and dad got to sit back and spend the rest of the night with Columbo.  A few times he'd point things out to me.  Nothing new, not to me, but the same old parts of the episodes that annoy him or make him laugh.   But the sentences were either muddled or unfinished.  He copes better with muddled than unfinished...so do I, I think.  When he gets a word wrong he can find it somewhat funny and refer to himself as "an eejit!" but when the sentence is unfinished it means he can't find the word at all or has lost the thread altogether.  Then it's harder to stand by and wait because then I have to watch.  I hate to see that look on his face.  I can't react, I just say his sentence for him followed casually by "aye...I know what you mean dad."

The routine didn't change, despite me getting on with my cake.  As soon as Columbo finished I was there to put on another.  At last the cake was done and I showed him the finished product.

"Oh that's awfy braw," he said.  "You're awfy clever."

"Thanks." I said.

"No but you really are.  Awfy clever.  Aye...you're good at that." he continued on...and I let him.

Deep down I'm still the wee lassie who just wants praise from a parent.

My dad's praise means more than I can say, even though he doesn't know I'm his daughter.

I'll take it anyway.