Holy shitballs, in 49 days I'll be 40. How this can possibly be, when I'm still 17 in my head, is beyond me.
Mr G has been on top form recently, and as much as I wish I could attribute it all to the opiate based pain meds that he's on, alas, no. This is the reality of life with Mr G.
Adam decided to let me know just before school one morning that he didn't like that day's lunch option and that he needed a packed lunch. So, off we we rushed to the supermarket, came home, I assembled the lunch quickly, put it in the box. Mr G then says...
Mr G: Parmesan lunch.
Mr G: I'll just go and take Adam's lunch up to school.
Me: And that sentence translates to 'Parmesan lunch'... how?
Mr G: I don't know. I don't know. I don't even like parmesan.
And then there was...
Mr G: I'll see if there's anything about it on Fastrybook.
(It's a social network, in a pie crust. Two of Mr G's favourite things, combined).
Upon discharge from hospital, he telephoned me to inform me that...
Mr G: They're just taking me down to Adventure Land.
He meant Departure Lounge, much to the mirth of the nurse pushing his wheelchair, and the other patients who heard him. I texted him later to ask if he was Finn or Jake... and sent it to my mother by accident. So I'm just as bad.
Then once home, he was pondering upon why his body was itching so much...
Mr G: Maybe it's these semipeed. Tramadol. Where did I get semipeed from?
Now the weather has picked up somewhat, Adam has been spending a lot of time in the local park with his friends, and is having to rely on his friends to tell him the time so he is home when I ask him to be. Mr G has found a watch upstairs that is 'cool' enough for Adam...
Mr G: I've found an Adidas watch upstairs Adam, you can have that. I just need to get a bing for it next time I'm in town.
Me: A bing?
Adam: A bing??
Mr G: I meant battery.
And then, the best exchanges ever, between Mr G and Adam.
Adam: Dad, have you got any more scars?
Mr G: Yes, I've got one on my hand, one on my shoulder, four lots on my stomach, scars on both my ankles, and one on my *nods to nether regions* you know.
Adam: You've got a scar on your penis????
Mr G: No! On my, you know... testicle.
Mr G: I had a lump and they had to take it out.
Mr G: (to me) He's dead now, you know.
Me: Who is?
Mr G: The surgeon who operated on me.
Adam: Huh! He's dead to you after cutting your balls open!
Never a dull moment in this house. Never a dull moment...