incandragon

My dad loves to play the game "silly buggers." He may not know the game by that name, but he's a master at it. He was underappreciated in Port Neches, where a blank stare is a best-case scenario. At worst, it's a thrown rock. Yes, he's had rocks thrown at him. Yes, he deserved it.

He thrilled with Austin, because you never know when you've entered a showdown with another champion. In this town, it could be anyone. It's that kind of place.

My dad's latest adventure was when a grocery store cashier asked him the routine question, "Paper or plastic?" My dad replied, "Burlap." The cashier asked without dropping a beat, "Plain or sequined?"

My favorite one was the time he broke up with the girl running the cash register. He'd commented on the groceries that the woman behind him in line was about to purchase, then turned to the cashier.

"Penny, my dear," he said, reading from her name tag. "It's been a delightful time and I'll always cherish those memories, but I'm afraid I'm leaving you for this marvelous woman who's buying steak and beer."

Penny touched the back of her hand to her head, melodrama-style ... and screamed. Three times. It was loud enough that birds took flight inside the store. My dad hadn't even known there were birds inside the store, but it certainly added to the startle-factor.

Once he was sure he wasn't about to have a heart-attack, he smiled at Penny and asked, "Theater Major?"

She beamed. "Yes."