~~My wife's a saint.

     When I first asked her if my dad could move in with us, she said, "Sure, why not?"  Her own father had passed away a few years earlier, and she had always gotten along with mine.  Besides, he was a grown man.  Self-sufficient.  He used to be in the Army, for gosh sakes.  During World War II.  How much trouble could he be?

     The house we lived in had a guest house in the front, that was separated from our house by a nice patio.  That's where I enjoyed drinking coffee and reading the newspaper in the morning, and drinking coffee and talking with my wife in the evening.  The kitchen was directly behind me.  On the evening he moved in I was enjoying coffee by myself.  I could hear her talking with my father.

     "Dad," she said, "would you like some ice cream?"  She was trying to be nice, and make him feel at home.

     "What's that?" he answered. 

     "Do you want some ice cream?"

     "Do I want some ice cream?"

     "Yes, Dad.  Do you want some ice cream?"

     "Ice cream?"

     "Or would you like some later?"  She was already trying to cut her losses.

     "What about later?" he asked.  Changing the question was a bad idea.  Now he had to mentally shift from reverse into first gear.

     "Would you like ice cream right now, or later?"

     "Ice cream right now?  Oh, huh...  okay, it sounds good.  What flavors do you have?"

     "Dad, we only have vanilla."

     "You only have what?"

     "I have to go to the grocery store to get more, but right now we only have vanilla."

     "Vanilla...  huh..  hmmm...  well...  well...  you don't have any other flavors?"

     "No, Dad, just vanilla."

     "Only vanilla?"

     "Yes, Dad.  Only vanilla.  We ran out of the other flavors."

     "You ran out of what?"

     "Other flavors."

     "Did you say you have other flavors?"

     "No, Dad, we only have vanilla."

     "You only have vanilla?"

     "Dad, that's all we have," she said, a bit more firmly this time.  It worked.

     "Well, I guess I have no other choice.  If you don't have any other flavor, I guess I have to have vanilla.  Since you don't have any other flavor.  But just give me a little.  You always give me too much."

     So I hear my wife take the vanilla ice cream out of the freezer, and she serves dad a bowl of it.  Meanwhile, my coffee's gone cold from waiting for my wife to join me.  I can hear her put the bowl in front of him, and then I hear the clink of metal against porcelain.  I finish the last of my coffee, and get up to join my wife inside.

     "This ice cream's not very good," I hear my Dad say.  I sit back down

     My life's just become an Abbott & Costello routine.