Piles of Shots

My father has never met an organizational system that he likes. Correction. He's met one. It's called 'the pile system." This is the most basic of organizational methods available. Essentially, everything goes in piles. What goes in what pile is specifically outlined by the phrase, "every pile, everything!" I just love hanging out in his spaces.

On Saturday I "got" to drive his car to run an errand. As he pointed me in the general direction he uttered the most accurate description I could possibly imagine, "It's that little rust-bucket over there." I silently agreed. The second I got in I started to laugh. The car is perfectly organized adhering strictly to the patented pile method, and entirely sticky. I'm not sure what he did to the steering wheel, but, seriously, I'm afraid if I touch it I'll get hepatitis. Thankfully my shots are current.

I couldn't stop laughing, and had to share my condition with my sister, Fox. So, I called her up and asked, "Have you seen Dad's car?"

"No," she replied, "the last car of his I saw had a broomstick holding the seat up!"

"Well, then," I responded, the memory fresh in my mind, "you know exactly what I'm talking about!" We laughed, and laughed, and laughed some more.

Ironically, despite the mess, stickiness, and overall dilapidated condition of the vehicle, Mumsy informs me that, he babies that car.

I would too, for fear it would disintegrate around me.