Dad books his trip

The day I confirmed the plans for our wedding, I immediately called my dad and told him to book his trip. That was six months ago.

So a few days ago dad calls to tell me he finally called the travel agent. Usually when dad calls it’s because he’s bored and wants to badger me about something asinine. Since retiring to the beach a few years ago, he occupies his time by working on his tan and finding new and interesting ways to bring me severe mental discomfort. He gets a lot of joy from this hobby, and he has a very high success rate.

The problem with dad is that you never actually know when he’s lying. I’ve come to realize that when I really really need him to be lying, like for the sake of the tiny ounce of sanity I am violently hoarding in hopes that I may escape this unharmed- that’s usually when he’s telling the truth.

You don’t believe that he’s driving around town in a Barney costume? Well just look out the window- because there’s a purple dinosaur in a pickup truck waiting outside your house. How about buying a life size Marvin the Martian figurine at a flea market to display in the game room? Yup. It’s there. So obviously any conversation with the man is liable to send you into convulsions. Especially when the conversation is about your wedding.

Anyways, dad starts the call by excitedly telling me he made sure the travel agent knew he was the father of the bride. Numerous times. Very very very many times during the conversation. He also likes to talk in a loud, sing-song type of way while on the phone, kind of like Oprah. He demonstrates how he relayed this information to the travel agent in his best Oprah voice.

Do you who I aaaaaaaa-mmmm? I’m the father of the briiiiii-deeee…. I cut dad short and tell him the travel agent was warned in advance about his hobby. One point for me.

Dad switches gears to his fall back routine that I like to call “I’m not talking with you, I’m talking at you”. This is an immediate win. At this point in the call I usually begin pacing the house and/or pouring myself a drink and wondering if he’s still too young to hide away in a retirement home. (He is, and he often reminds me of it.)

So for now I’ll just have to study these conversations and find a loop hole in his strategy.

I have yet to find it. 

What should I wear to the wedding…..?

You should wear pants

I think I’ll wear shorts

I need you to wear pants. I need you to wear tan pants.

I’ve got some shorts, that’ll look pretty fancy.

Please wear pants. …..   Dad!      ……         Pants!   …….        I’m begging you.

You know there’s this shop down the street. A clothing shop.

Do not go there.

Like a vintage clothes shop. My buddy went there.

Do not go to that store. (panic)

Bought himself a camel skin coat.

A what?

A caaaaaaamel skiiiiiiiin coat! (Oprah)

Do not buy that coat (extreme mental discomfort, slight eye twitching)

Paid fifty cents.

Fifty cents? There’s a reason for that. Do not buy a fifty cent coat. (searching for asprin)

Pretty slick coat…. I could wear that.

You will never wear that coat because I will burn it first. (giving up on asprin, looking for vodka)

I think I’ll go by there tomorrow. Get myself a camel skin coat.

Are we actually having a conversation, or are you just talking in the general direction of the phone?

The conversation continued in this way for another 30 minutes, and spanned such topics as his dating life and a recent awkward trip to a restaurant that turned out to be a gay bar.

So anyways, dad has booked his trip. If you happen to see a man at the resort in cargo shorts and a camel skin coat, be sure to say hello.