So, you might know that I’m taking my dad (Fazh) to New Zealand in a little over 2 weeks. He’s gone a little nutty with excitement. Months ago I gave him Eyewitness New Zealand to read through. He started dog earring corners, and writing notes in the book, essentially making a list of things he wanted to see. This is his trip, so I’ll do my best to make sure as much of what he wants to see is included. Some of the requests created a logistical nightmare. We only have 2 weeks and he’s got about 2 months worth of stuff on the list.
Most important to him was seeing how kiwi fruit grows, seeing a Kauri tree logging harbour, seeing a sheep shearing, going to the glow worm caves, and seeing penguins. He also wants to take the InterIsland ferry and the TranzAlpine train. Then he decided that Milford Sound and the Moeraki Boulders would be good options as well. All of those things I’m alright with except for the logging industry. That wasn’t going to be logistically possible, and was promptly cut. (I also couldn’t make the TranzAlpine work. The Coastal Pacific works just fine though.)
I think the fruit is what he’s most excited for, it isn’t like we don’t have kiwi fruit in the supermarket here, and it isn’t like he has never see a sheep being shorn in Canada either. Who am I to argue?
As the trip gets closer, he gets sillier. Here’s a conversation from last week.
Me: We’re going to have to get you some snacks for the 7 hour bus ride we have one day so you don’t turn into a cranky bitch.
Fazh: Stock me up on marshmallows and licorice, and I’ll be fine.
Me: Uh, maybe we could get you a sandwich and a drink or something to pack with you instead of just sugar.
Fazh: Where are you going to get a sandwich there?
Like he has a steady diet of pure sugar here? Like there are no supermarkets in New Zealand? No bread, no sandwich supplies? Really?!?
And today he calls me at work:
Fazh: I have to go buy a backpack for the trip. I think I’m going to get something camouflage so that I can use it for hunting and fishing later.
Me: Ok, but you have to get something small. 30L or less. It has to be small enough for carry-on. I’ll take you shopping on Thursday after work so you can pick out something good.
Fazh: I have ear plugs for the plane. They have a string connecting them so I don’t lose them. And I’m going to pick up a Louis L’Amour book. They’re all the same–the cowboy will ride his horse around, do some shooting, run around for a while, kiss the girl and they’ll ride off into the sunset together. Those books are all the same. I’m going to buy one right now.
And after work:
Me: Did you find a backpack?
Fazh: Yes, I looked at them. I saw one that looked comfortable.
Me: Did you try it on?
Fazh: No, you told me not to buy it unless you looked at it. I also saw some Merrell running shoes that looked comfortable. They had a deal buy 1 pair get 1 pair half off so they could have gotten $200 out of me.
Me: You know you can buy just 1 pair right?
Fazh: Well I didn’t buy any because you told me not to buy anything.
Me: …….
But the best part of the day, and for all of you who get this conversation, I hope you find it as funny as me. (FYI: he’s 62, able bodied, and does not limp.)
Fazh: I don’t want you yelling at me because I’m old. I don’t want you yelling at me because I’m limping around. I don’t want you yelling at me because I’m slow.
Me: I’ll yell at you, you’ve got a 20 minute time limit, move it along mister. I’m gonna yell at you if you so much as think about eating an extra cookie.
Fazh: Then I’ll start calling you JOAN!*
Me: Charles you don’t need that!
Moral of the story, I might go cuckoo.
*Joan is my Grandma’s name. She’s the food police with my Grandpa.
You must be logged in to post a comment.