"I Got Kicked Out!": Chronicles Of An Adult-Child Of Aging Titans (for adults who need to laugh to keep from crying over their parents)

"I GOT KICKED OUT!", continued from last week's "Tasteless".
My dad is ejected suddenly from the condo, whirling awkwardly as if in the eye of the tornado of my mother's wrath.  The vacuum from the door whooshing open so forcefully has popped my ears and I start banging on the side of my head at the precise moment the neighbor across the hallway from them decides to open his door to leave his apartment.
He takes it all in with a little tremor; my dad lurching to get his bearings with arms outstretched like he's playing Blindman's Bluff with himself, my mother's shoe still arcing through the air from where she must have tried and fallen just short of kicking my dad in his rear, and me banging my head agitatedly as if there's something rolling around in there that I believe I can force out like coins from a piggybank.
The neighbor starts in one direction then the other then retreats, disappearing through the door.  He's a thin man and since he's barely cracked open the door, he's able to perform something like a magic trick in his utter haste to get back into his condo.
"And stay out!"  My mom directs this at my dad before yanking me inside.
"Your father gets more and more like a buffoon every day!"
"What happened?"  I say just a beat too late, and with all the aplomb I can dredge up from my only acting experience as a leaf in a Thanksgiving play when I was seven.
"Everything."  She responds in a disgruntled huff, plopping down on the sofa.
"And don't you dare touch that air conditioner."  She suddenly snaps upright and pins eagle eyes on me.
"But mom," I fling my arm at the thermostat, in a fit of pique already, "it says it's 92 degrees in here!"
"Can't be.  Feels downright chilly to me."  She shivers and assails me with a look like she's desperately cold.  Meanwhile, I feel as if I'm trapped in a burning house being ravaged by white-hot invisible flames.
As I open my mouth to protest, there's hearty knocking at the door.
"Don't answer it, Tucker."
"Tell your mother I can hear her."
"Dad says he can hear you."
"Tucker, open this door!"
"Let him stay out there, til he can learn some manners!"
"Mom..."
"Ignore him, Tucker.  Come, let's go on the balcony where it's more pleasant."
My dad is now beating on the door in that way that you do when you don't want one area of your hand to get too sore.
"Gladys [expletive]!  You [expletive] well better answer this [expletive] door before I reach the [expletive] number ten!  I'm not taking anymore of this [expletive]!  Not in my own [expletive] house!"
My mom is beckoning me from the balcony but I'm dragging my feet, looking between the door and then back at her balefully.
"UGH!"  She suddenly gets disgusted, vaults herself out of her seat and across the room - unhampered by the other shoe still out in the hallway somewhere - and flings open the door.  "You are such a daddy's girl!"

~Look for "Daddy's Girl", another episode of Chronicles, next week~

#comedy #aging #funnystuff #jokeoftheday