Could Be Worse

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Sexy, but not really happy. Like me right now.

So I drove home today to see my dad after his surgery.

Now, understand. The old man is a naturally cantankerous sort. The kind of guy who puts the “Grumpy Old Kraut” in “Grumpy Old Kraut.”

My family is German, BTW, so I’m allowed to say things like Grumpy Old Kraut.

To my surprise, he was fairly mellow, considering he’s had 15 inches of his small intestine removed the other day. He actually called me by name, which if you knew the man, would show that he was either A) terrified by his own mortality or B) Drunk.

I am siding on option A

I also got to see the scar, which was surprisingly small. Thank God.

They’re supposed to let him out as soon as he can pass gas. As far as I understand it, being able to fart means that the intestines are up to snuff again. Then they’ll let him eat and go home, hopefully sending along enough pain pills and warnings so he doesn’t do anything stupid like try to bench-press a car.

After I left the hospital I took my mom shopping (always an adventure) and visited various brothers, nieces, nephews, and sisters-in-law. On the way home I outlined a new erotica story, which will combine aliens, lesbians, space-travel, and body transformation.

That’s all for now.

Peace out.

Alana

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