… But thanks for the warning.
As Peggy and I journeyed back to Toronto early on this sunny morning, my Father placed one of his numerous (and expected) phone calls. Normally these calls range in purpose:
• To list things we may have forgotten -ok, the time with the laptop and the time I left my wallet were totally justified
• Often he wants to check on our progress – really? How far can we get in 20 minutes?
• Sometimes he just calls to pass on anecdotes he forgot to share over the weekend – and we wonder why I yammer so much?
He quite often phones me when I’m at work to check how the rest of the ride was, as well. I miss you too, Dad.
Today, however, was different. Dad had taken it upon himself to ring us and warn of a possible oncoming issue.
Apparently his flatulence had been of the problematic variety, and was concerned it was something that he (and therefore Mom and I) had eaten. So… Ok, I’ll be careful passing wind then – thanks Dad.
Despite the tidings of doom, I experienced nothing more than garden variety gas today.
Does this count as Fatherly wisdom?