Presumably, we'd been Judged, and found wanting. Only a matter of
time, now.
So I can't get pissed at Tony for playing fatherly. I kind of even like it.
And besides, now that hospitals are turf, I'm as likely to get kakked as cured,
especially when they find out that dear ole Dad was the bull-goose Process-head.
Thanks, Pop.
"That right? Won't go take your medicine, Maxes?" She can do this eye-twinkle
thing, turn it off and on at will, and when she does, it's like there's nothing
average about her at all.
"I'm too pretty to make it in there."
Daisy turns to Tony and they do this leaders-of-the-commune meaningful-glance
thing that makes me apeshit. "Maybe we could get a doc to come here?" Daisy
says, at last.
"And perform surgery in the kitchen?" I say back. All the while, my knee is
throbbing and poking out from under my robe.
Daisy and Tony hang head and I feel bad. These two, if they can't help, they
feel useless. "So, how you been?" I ask Daisy, who has been AWOL for three
weeks, looking for her folks in Kitchen-Waterloo, filled up with the holiday
spirit.
"Baby, it's cold outside. Took highway 2 most of the way -- the 407 was drive-by
city. The heater on the Beetle quit about ten minutes out of town, so I was
driving with a toque and mittens and all my sweaters. But it was nice to see the
folks, you know? Not fun, but nice."
Nice. I hope they stuck a pole up Dad's ass and put him on top of the Xmas tree.
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