My father was a trickster. To say the least, he put a lot of people through a lot of things; but it was all in good fun. He put my poor husband through a lot when we first met. Even after we got married, they continued to keep this prank quarrel thing going. My father usually got his goat most of the time but there was one day; my husband won.
I was sitting at the kitchen table that day, talking to my father, while my husband worked behind me fixing himself a sandwich. I have no idea what I was talking to my father about but most of the conversation I had my head down working on something for him.
Unbeknownst to me, my father noticed that I had laid my cell phone down in the middle of the table. He quietly slipped it into his front shirt pocket without me noticing. I’m positive he was about to enter into a fun little game, where he sat back and watched me search for my phone while he smiled on quietly.
Unbeknownst to father, however, my husband had seen what he had done. So, while I continued on with my work and my father smiled like a Cheshire cat (thinking he had gotten away with it), my husband pulled out his cell phone and called my number.
My phone at the time was on silent. Something my father wasn’t familiar with. He was the type of person that would pull out his cell phone to take a photo of something and ended up taking 14 selfies.
My father was putting his coffee cup to his lips for a sip, when my phone went off in his shirt pocket. The next thing I knew, coffee is all over the table, his shirt, me--
He dropped the cup and grabbed his chest. At first, I thought he was having another heart attack.
“What is wrong with you?” I managed.
My father produced my cell phone out of his pocket (to my surprise) and looked at it. When he saw who the caller was, he looked over me towards my husband, who was now bent over crying by the stove because he was laughing so hard. I glanced back at him (still confused as to what was happening) and then back at my father.
“You—”
I can’t finish what my father called my husband, it’s just not appropriate.
He tossed my cell phone back onto the table and stood up to wipe his shirt off. I flung the last of the coffee off of my hand while my husband continued to gasp for air; all the while, my father glared at him. It wasn’t until later that I found out what had happened. To this day, if you mention it, my husband will tear up.
Before my father passed away, when someone mentioned the story, he would shake his head and call my husband a name.
I dealt with overgrown children.
I was sitting at the kitchen table that day, talking to my father, while my husband worked behind me fixing himself a sandwich. I have no idea what I was talking to my father about but most of the conversation I had my head down working on something for him.
Unbeknownst to me, my father noticed that I had laid my cell phone down in the middle of the table. He quietly slipped it into his front shirt pocket without me noticing. I’m positive he was about to enter into a fun little game, where he sat back and watched me search for my phone while he smiled on quietly.
Unbeknownst to father, however, my husband had seen what he had done. So, while I continued on with my work and my father smiled like a Cheshire cat (thinking he had gotten away with it), my husband pulled out his cell phone and called my number.
My phone at the time was on silent. Something my father wasn’t familiar with. He was the type of person that would pull out his cell phone to take a photo of something and ended up taking 14 selfies.
My father was putting his coffee cup to his lips for a sip, when my phone went off in his shirt pocket. The next thing I knew, coffee is all over the table, his shirt, me--
He dropped the cup and grabbed his chest. At first, I thought he was having another heart attack.
“What is wrong with you?” I managed.
My father produced my cell phone out of his pocket (to my surprise) and looked at it. When he saw who the caller was, he looked over me towards my husband, who was now bent over crying by the stove because he was laughing so hard. I glanced back at him (still confused as to what was happening) and then back at my father.
“You—”
I can’t finish what my father called my husband, it’s just not appropriate.
He tossed my cell phone back onto the table and stood up to wipe his shirt off. I flung the last of the coffee off of my hand while my husband continued to gasp for air; all the while, my father glared at him. It wasn’t until later that I found out what had happened. To this day, if you mention it, my husband will tear up.
Before my father passed away, when someone mentioned the story, he would shake his head and call my husband a name.
I dealt with overgrown children.
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