SOB (sister of blogger) and HOSOB (husband of SOB) had a day with Dad today.  Lunch and a museum.

I get an email from SOB later in the day:

“Here’s some news. Had lunch with Dad. He bought a pint of  Half & Half in the store. No, didn’t need to take it from the restaurant. Thought you would want to know.”

Dad didn’t take the creamers from the diner (along with extra jam packets)?  I was shocked.  I think maybe they spent the day with the wrong old man.

I email back:

“Are you sure it was Dad?”

SOB quickly replies:

“Pretty sure. He was 30 minutes early and [HOSOB] said that at the exhibit, he was close to touching the paintings that he didn’t like.”

Ok, so here is what we have:  our Dad doesn’t buy his own cream for his morning coffee.  30 minutes early is late for Dad.  But he does get dangerously close to masterpieces he doesn’t like, not because he wants to harm the work, but because he can’t see so well anymore and he wants to point to the particulars that bother him.  (Picasso’s “Blue Period” art is especially at risk.)

On balance, it was more probably Dad.  We will see him tomorrow.  SOS (our son, source of sanity) invited Dad, SOB and HOSOB to join him at the natural history museum so he could show them the Hall of Ancient Peoples.  POB (partner of blogger) and I were not invited.  “Mommy and E-Mom, you can have some free play.”

But I will see Dad when I drop off SOS at SOB’s house.  More than just to say hi and kiss him — I need to make sure that Dad is, well, Dad.