Dad called the other day.
"How much do you pay for Medicaid for the year?"
"Um, I don't pay for Medicaid."
I could hear the Weeblnomics wheels turning to find out how I didn't have to pay for the insurance and how he could get on the gravy train.
"I'm only 53. I don't qualify for Medicaid. Don't rush me," I laughed.
There was a pause.
"What about Himself?"
"Dad, he's a year younger than I am."
After we hung up, I wasn't sure whether to be amused or insulted by Dad's question. Am I so mature Dad thinks of me as a contemporary? Or is my weeble showing? Guess it's time to turn my brown hair blue.