Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Signpost ahead...beware of bumps and potholes.

Bump #1:

My dad is going in for knee replacement surgery.

The pothole that follows it:

On the same day, the ex is finally going to be back in town to pick up his car, but not forgetting to bring the Bassett Hound Faced Bitch along for the ride so I can see her stick her head out of the window and watch as her tongue lolls out with the wind in her face as they drive away.

All this is happening to me tomorrow.

I'm edgy.  It can't be helped.  This is one of those days that I've been dreading would come along.  But, I'm going to remember a couple of things:

1.  Don't have a scalding hot cup of coffee in my hand when I hit the bump.  (a.k.a. Hoping for the best but preparing for the worst.)

2.  Focus on the positives and pray to the gods that I can find some sort of nutritional value in it all.

The last time Daddy had his other knee replaced, my ex sat at his bedside and watched over him by the hour.  My father really loved that.  This time around, it's almost fate that the guy who hurt me the worst in my life would show up on a day that I'm most concerned with the most important man in the world to me; who's taught me the most about life and who is my pal and someone I admire for his intellect and relaxed attitude.

While we were married, my ex and my father were very close.  They enjoyed beer, football and raw bell peppers while my mother and I were in the kitchen preparing Sunday dinners.  Now, after everything has happened, my father has laid down the law.  It's katy-bar-the-door where the ex is concerned, because my father stated in no uncertain terms, "that whatever-he-is is no longer a part of this family and he is not welcome around us ever again".

When I got the e-mail from the ex telling me he was coming into town to pick up his car, it came with the usual list of dubious reasons why he was doing it.  I got some yada-yada about how they're having their plane tickets paid for by a third party (by the way, I found out, it's the Bassett's mother that's picking up the tab) to pick up a family dog (again with the friggin' dogs) and pick up his car at the same time and drive them all the way back to Kentucky, stopping to sleep at hotels along the way.  Whatever.  As I recall, I'm the one who drove herself, alone with nothing but sheer will and guts, from Orlando to Vegas.  Almost coast to coast alone.  I didn't have a dime to my name and I had all about enough money for gas and maybe a snack every 20 hours or so.  I didn't have a travel companion, it was me, alone with sheer fortitude that got me to where I was destined to go. I had no posh hotel rooms to stay at during the trip, all I had to sleep in was my car seat with a pillow propped up against the car window to rest my head against and my teddy bear on my lap for warmth.   And he has the gall to come to me with some BS excuse for bringing his girlfriend along for the ride and shoving her down my throat again?  Really?  Sometimes the balls on that guy really push me to the breaking point.  But then I realized something...he has to be pretty insecure and scared to have to bring backup with him.  Please, I've got nothing to say to him but "here's your keys, goodbye and have a nice trip".  Even Nan said that him bringing the girlfriend along was just in bad taste.  Ok, wait, have we not established a hundred times over that the guy is just one big example of bad taste?  Yet it continues.  And I have to face off with it in less than 24 hours.

My father and his knee surgery are another whole enchilada.  He's sneaking up on 70.  Last time he had his knee replaced, they had a hard time bringing him out of the anesthesia.  I'm worried sick that today at dinner will be the last time I ever talk to my Dad.  Gods, I hope not.  My Dad is awesome on a scale that only a daughter would know.  He's a brilliant man with so many untold stories, I keep prying for just a peek here and there about his time in the military and all of the little hints he's given about being in army intelligence that have made me call him "superspy" for a few years now.  He's a fascinating man that even though he was brought up in a world of cows, chickens, turkeys, horses and all sorts of other farm life, he came out well cultured, with his own brand of humor.  The man laughs like Barney Rubble, but has the bowed legs of Yosemite Sam.  Let's cap it all off that as he's reached his silver years, he keeps looking more and more like Gene Hackman.  To say my father means the world to me would be an understatement.  He taught me how to love football and how to sit still during the game and actually be engaged in it.  He taught me how to tap a beer from a keg with little to no foam on the top.  He taught me to never get so caught up in things that you forget what the big picture looks like.  He's the one I quote day in and day out with "People got the worms, there is always something eating them."  My father is one in a million.

But, after telling the ex that my father's surgery was on the same day he was showing up with the Basset Hound Faced Bitch, he told me he was very concerned about my dad.  Oh yeah right, the only thing that guy cares about is money and what people can give him or do for him.  But, when it comes to Dad, I'm at a quandary.  As I said, at one time, they were very close and the ex was very vigilant when it came to my Dad's care the last time we went through this.  Do I let the ex poke his head in the hospital room to show some sort of support or do I just do what is in my nature to do, which is protect my father at all costs?  I know for certain if Dad sees him, he'll be none too pleased.  If Mom sees him, lordy, that's a scene I don't even want to imagine because I'm almost positive Mom will rip his arms off and beat him mercilessly about the head and shoulders with them.  Even Nan is none too thrilled that the ex will be in town while my dad is laid up in the hospital.  We've got so many things to take care of that the last bit of aggravation we need is my pompous, arrogant, pain in the ass ex showing up and pretending like he cares about what's happening to us, with his new girlfriend in tow.  Bad taste.  The man is just nothing but bad taste.  The part of me who knows my ex tells me that he'll leave her in the car or as far away from my family as he can get her, but at the same time for him to attempt to show up at all?  Oy veh.  It's a mess waiting to happen.  I think when the time comes, I'll just let him know that we're thankful he "cares", but it's not a good idea he go to the hospital to see Dad.  To be honest, I don't want that flea-infested son-of-a-bitch anywhere near my father.  I don't want the hospital room contaminated by his energy and filth, so I'll go the high road and smile through my rage and just make my words kind, gentle and tasteful.  Heaven knows, my ex will look at my family as he always has, down his nose and pitying the poor country folk, that to him, have no class.  Yeah, we're the ones with no class...riiiiiiight.


In all, it's going to be one hell of a day and I'm not looking forward to it.

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