Dad started the descent slowly, but inevitably, gravity took over, pulling him down at a rate of speed not approved for his advancing age. The whole thing was like a cringeworthy sitcom, and none of us could look away.
“Ah shit,” he swore, as a splash of red splattered onto his white shirt and a pile of chips transferred onto his shorts. Undeterred, the man forged on, flicking the folding side table out with his elbow and setting his drink on it before surveying the damage. All in all, not a bad performance. I’d seen worse. Much worse.
“You all right there, Dad?” I asked.
He looked up, surprised to see me. “Oh, good. You’re home. Your mom was worried.”
“Like I was the only one,” she replied.
“Well, you were the loudest.”
It was only when my father had transferred everything onto his TV tray that he sat back and I saw what was written in large bold lettering on his shirt. “Ask me about my colonoscopy.”
“You really can’t get enough attention, can you?” I laughed.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Whatever you do, donotask him about his colonoscopy,” Jake warned.
“It’s a trap,” Kenzie seconded the warning.
“Anything he says cannot be unheard,” Sam added.
“Relax, ingrates.” Dad smiled, relishing the horror his existence invoked in his children. “This is a different story.”
Keith scratched his temple. “How can one person have two colonoscopy stories?”
“I have benign polyps, Keith, that’s how,” Dad scoffed.
“All right, fine.” I bit down on the line. “Tell me about your colonoscopy.”
“Nooo,” the others groaned in unison.
“Oh, stop. This new story has no excrement involved. Anyway, after my last colonoscopy, my doctor came to check in on me and I said, ‘Wow, Doc, now I know what it feels like to be a Muppet.’”
Mom’s eyes rounded in horror. “Oh god, Scott. Please tell me he laughed at that.”
“What do you think, Michelle? The man’s a gastroenterologist. He specializes in diarrhea. Of course, he laughed.”
She shielded her eyes with her hand. “And that’s precisely why I no longer go to his appointments with him.”
“I just hope this funnyman gastroenterologist of yours doesn’t know you’re my father,” Jake said. “But that’s probably wishful thinking, isn’t it?”
“Well, I did wear a shirt once that read, ‘Ask me about my son, Jake McKallister,’ so it’s possible he deduced from there.”
Jake covered his head with a pillow. “I’m never taking you anywhere, ever again.”
“Speaking of being a shitty son…” Dad smirked. “Jake, do you care to explain why you’re not wearing the white clothes I specifically requested for Mother’s Day pictures?”
“Sure, Dad. Because one, you’re my father. And two, I have a reputation to uphold. To be perfectly honest with you, I never even considered your request.”
“Ah, I see.” Dad smoothed his fingers over his jawline. “Interesting, since it’s, you know, Mother’s Day and all. But okay. Quinn? What about you? I also noticed your blatant disregard for the sanctity of the day I convinced your mother to have sex with me… in order to have you.”
“Blech! That’s wrong on so many levels. And I’m sorry but no way are the first paparazzi pictures circulating in the media of me going to show me dressed like Colonel Sanders.”
Dad took mental note of my refusal before turning to Keith, also not in white. “And you?”
“What?” He shrugged. “I just forgot.”
