Throwing Poo

After my father survived his emergency quadruple bypass surgery last week, I did what any responsible American son would do:  I dumped him in a nursing home and decided to jet off to Las Vegas and reward myself with a weekend of debauchery.   If that seems a little callous, rest assured that I fully intend to pick him up a souvenir Las Vegas ashtray at the airport on my way home (if I have any cash left).   Maybe I’ll even find a big one that can double as a bedpan. 

To my credit, I chose one of the most reputable skilled nursing facilities in Lake County for his two-week rehab stint.  Well, the most reputable that Medicare would buy, but now we are splitting hairs, aren’t we?  Anyway, we arrived at the old folk’s home on Friday at 3:00PM, which is apparently the same time that the old ladies hold their slow-motion wheelchair demolition derby.  Wheeling dad to his room, I had to dodge a veritable gaggle of grey geese who were toeing their way around the hallways, inch-by-creeping-inch, in search of their rooms, medications, and long-dead husbands.  Fortunately my driving skills are Steve McQueen-esque, and our arrival (and, more importantly, my imminent departure) was not seriously delayed.  And while there was a highly-concealed yet unmistakable scent of piss in the air – imagine a lush, sparkling lemon grove with a babbling brook of ammonia running through it – I had been assured that this was a great place to be, assuming you have to be in such a place.

So I stuffed some flowers in an oddly-shaped plastic vase, unpacked his bags, and headed home to pack my own.

In my former career, I did quite a lot of business in Las Vegas and made frequent visits to the city of vice.  Nerdy Squirrel, Esq, on the other hand, has never experienced the cheese-smothered majesty and self-inflicted carnage of the town that Bugsy built.  So we’re off to comb the Strip, marvel at Fremont Street, and, if no one blabs, make a visit to the Bunny Ranch.  Nerdy loves the idea of getting to pet a plethora of furry little animals.  Me, too, though I tend to like my hares a little less hairy.

Get it?!

P.S. Notice how brave and smart-assy I get now that everything worked out for my dad.