Advice

The mail arrived with a check for the phone bill and a letter from Dad, a newsy note. The Brother had gone to pay them a surprise visit on Sunday. The surprise was on The Brother as the Weebles were not at home. Dad's friend had taken them for storm supplies on a three hour shopping expedition to Market Basket. Lord knows how they would make it through the one to three inches of snow without a case of Pastene canned tomatoes. Dad was sorry they missed The Brother's visit but was pleased with The Brother's phone call later that evening.

The end of the letter turned to Dad venting. Seems Ma was singing the "He's Stupid" song. No surprise there. I did chuckle at the last paragraph, some words of advice from father to daughter.

Growing up, Dad really didn't have much to say to The Brother and myself. When he did have something to say, he was like that old E. F. Hutton commercial. "When E. F. Hutton talks, people listen. "

"...It's wonderful to have a perfect wife, pure as can be. I keep telling her that perfection was made 2,000 years ago. And we ain't going to sing Ave Marie.

Love,

Dad

P. S. Don't you ever get to be like her."

I'm listening, Dad, I'm listening.