Viva
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.
Comments
That stench you smelt was probably coming from Lysol's new piss-scented disinfectant. It's marketed mainly to nursing homes and men's rooms.
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