Giving notice...

A while ago, Daddio, a Miracle Whip man from way back decided to go Mayo...

"I don't like Miracle Whip anymore" he explained "it's too sweet".

This morning, as I was making Daddio's lunch, lovingly slapping two pieces of Wonder bread around a blob of wondrous egg salad (prepared with Mayo, just like he likes his egg salad, on the days he likes egg salad...) he walked into the kitchen and said..

 "You didn't use that crappy azz Mayo today did you?"

"I hate that stuff, it's not sweet at all"...

"It would have been nice of you to share that information BEFORE I mixed the egg salad" I said, irritated.

Daddio likes to change things up...

One day he likes "it".. the next day he doesn't...

somewhat like a toddler.

This week his likes and dislikes have been on my last nerve.

I've listened to complaints about "pink" oranges (that he thought were grapefruits)

"they're pink" he said "oranges aren't pink"...

"They taste the same...an orange is an orange is an orange..." I growl

"It's like biting into a hamburger and having it taste like chicken" he tries to tie the two together...

"It is an orange and it tastes like an orange" I say

I didn't bother to go into any explanations about it being a cara cara orange...I'd just hear "could ya just buy me oranges...? could you do that?  just buy me regular oranges, why does the world have to keep changing things? things like oranges are fine like they are, no improvements are necessary, no changes need to be made, they're good."

"Oranges are good orange... not pink, oranges shouldn't be pink and then called orange..."

"I'm putting in my two weeks" I said quietly laying down the butcher knife I'd just used to cut up his orange orange.

Daddio, (shoving his leg into a pair of thick material-ed green Dockers, pants he said last week that he'd never wear again,) stopped and looked at me...

"I'm quitting this job"... I continue "I ain't workin here no mo"

If I offered you a raise, would you consider staying?" he asked.

When I laugh he figures he's off the hook and offers the following..

"Let me tell you a little something about harassment" he says... totally straight faced,

"I was ready to boot her out, but her- ass- meant too much to me."

Seriously...somewhere buried beneath the surface of that man is a guy who wears a crew cut and thick white socks....

and says things like... "E-dit!! fetch me my newspaper.."

It sucks (BIG TIME) when you miss your calling....

My New Year's post hinted at the possibility that maybe, just maybe someday in the foreseeable future I could and may be possibly spinning a wonderful tale that talked about Daddio's recovery from his tactile issues....

it ain't gonna happen, not now, probably not ever.

Shit My Dad says is a Twitter account owned by a twenty somethin guy named Justin...he has over 700,000 followers.

Loyal fans who tune in daily (and more) to read about the crazy shit his dad says...

Snippets of odd ball comments the old man makes. 

What the hell was I thinking...????? I could have authored this nonsense..

and called it Shit Daddio Says...

I'd be floatin in dough right now.

Jason recounts his dad's diddies Tweet style...140 characters, each one giggly worthy.

Jason's Dad could be Redd Foxx's Fred E. Sanford, Archie Bunker, George Jefferson and that goofy guy from Curb Your Enthusiasm all rolled into one...

So much like my precious Daddio, it's positively creepy.

I bought Daddio a leather jacket for Christmas...this may be the 25th leather jacket that Daddio has owned and tried to like.

He had one leather (only one) that he really loved.

Of course it went out of style along with his Duran Duran hair over 20 years ago.

So I'm always on the lookout for another that he will love as much.

And this last one wasn't it.

"What's wrong with the jacket?" I asked, noticing that he kept pushing it aside in the closet, choosing other jackets instead.

"It fits me like I'm wearing a grass catcher" he explained.

"A grass catcher..?" he had me puzzled.

"What the hell is a grass catcher"

"The thing on the lawn mower that collects the mowed grass" he replied.

Ohh brother...seriously... seriously?

Your jacket is a grass catcher...?

I missed my calling.

Dammit it all...I freakin missed my frickin calling.

You have no idea how hard it was to keep a straight face when the clerk asked my "reason for return"...

Yesterday morning Daddio put on his shirt and complained about about the button "local"..."look" he said.. "see how this buckles a bit here?" pulling at the collar of his dress shirt.."the button should be higher so it lays down"

"You want me to safety pin it closed" I offer, biting my bottom lip hard in an attempt to keep my hysterical laughter to myself.

"You really should become a clothing designer" I say "you most certainly missed your calling".

"Yeah and I'd get the shit right" he boasts.

Daddio tells me that the first thing he would design is a pair of long johns that had a crotch for a normal man... "first of all", he says, grabbing the extra 4 yards of material hanging from his crotch to his knees...

"I wouldn't have this spare blob right here" he says.

"Look....look how they bag".

"These things are made to fit a small gorilla or a monkey"...

Good Lord.... Calvin Koby?

Daddio Versace...?

Frick. 

We both missed the boat no freakin doubt about it.