The first thing Dad asks every year when I arrive is, “What was the weather when you left?”
“I don’t know, Dad. It was cold,” I say.
“How cold?”
“I don’t know. Very cold.”
“Was there snow on the ground?” Dad asks.
“No, no snow.”
“How about ice?”
“No, no ice either,” I reply.
“You know it’s in the seventies here.”
“Yes, Dad, I can feel that.”
Friday, August 6, 2010
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