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This week, my mother is away for a couple of days so we are all on full force dad duty. Last night, he wanted to go to Julia's soccer game.
"What time is the game?" he asked.
"Six," I answered. "You'll need to have some dinner before you go."
"But I'm not hungry."
"Just have a little," I answered. "You will be by eight."
Under duress, he skipped his cocktail (he has one at five every night) and he ate his dinner. Gin, rickety bleachers, and a forgetful brain don't mix well, so I try not to have him imbibe on game nights...
Wouldn't you know that as soon as he got home at 8:30, well past his usual bedtime, he went straight to his gin.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"I didn't have a drink," he said.
When I encouraged him to skip it and just go to bed, he rolled his eyes and sighed, complaining about a night with no dinner and no drink.
Amazing to me that he can remember to have his drink, but forget that he had his dinner!
Happy writing!
