With Utilities

My father broke his wrist yesterday.
At first it was cute because he had his little sling and everything.
But then I realized that he won't be able to play the accordion for two months.
And then I felt bad.
Dad has been playing the accordion for a great length of time.
But he has only started jamming-really jamming-in the past few years.
He even played onstage for a bunch of old people a couple of times.
His repertoire used to be violently limited.
We'd hear 'Frostie the Snowman' bustling out of the living room while we played basketball.
In June.

It's important to purchase your own food when you live with your parents.
Your senior citizen parents.
And I hate to be the guy who makes jokes that basically go, "My parents are so old."
But they're so old!
It's a gradual transformation, with violent, soaring spikes that occur occasionally.
For example, their fridge contains a variety of jams.
All of them homemade.
They have canned beverages in there.
But all of them are oddly coloured and marked.
Advertising preposterous flavours, like 'Green Apple Sparkling Soda.'
You can't mix gin with something as ambiguous as that.
These examples are gradual.
The dramatic instances are far more terrifying.
For example, I was checking my stock options on the computer the other day
("Sell!).
And dad approached me and began saying something to me.
But I couldn't hear what he was asking me because his pants were hitched up so high.
To the point where I was absolutely flabbergasted.
There's no other word to describe it.
And I felt like asking him:
"Dad. Why in the fuck are your pants like that?"
I've known him since I was born.
He has never worn his pants this way before.
It was frightening.

You share with your roommates.
Laundry detergent.
Paper towels.
Boyfriends and girlfriends.
You share with your roommates.
I left my shaving sack at Avril's place (second week in a row).
So, I had to borrow one of dad's razor blades.
"You don't have hepatitis, do you?" I asked him this before using his razor.
He claims that he doesn't.