My beloved readers as you all know my father and I have a I love you but you annoy the shit out of me sometimes relationship. And that he comes to visit me occasionally. The New Year has come and gone. But he is still stateside for some unforeseen reason.
I had a small super bowl party with friends and family. Now let’s be honest, we all know I didn’t watch football. I did watch the halftime show. Jennifer Lopez and Shakira looked awesome on my new huge tv that my dad bought for me. Due to the breakage that happened with the last one.
The night has ended without any family drama. Everyone is happy. I’ve got a little wine buzz, all is well. As I walk towards the kitchen for a refill I notice that my father seems a little off. He is sitting in his favorite chair, wearing blue striped boxers, and is staring at the ceiling. Dad has a strange dazed look on his face.
I ask “Dad, are you okay?” I’m pretty sure he didn’t drink much. He turns and looks at me with a dazed look and says he feels funny. I ask what do you mean? Tell me more specifically. He said that his whole body feels tingly and that he feels like he is floating.
I ask did you drink any hard liquor? He says no. He thinks he has food poisoning. But his symptoms don’t match food poisoning. Dad tells me he ate a little bit of everything and a sliver￼ of the brownies that my brother brought.
So I’m thinking okay, nothing there is that concerning. I tell him to go to sleep. His just needs to rest.
Next day, it’s around 8 am. I’m walking to the kitchen to get my elixir of life. I see my father. He is grasping the walls and the counter. Like he’s drunk and holding on for dear life.
Inner Monologue Moment: What the fuck is going on? So much for elders being the fucking examples for the younger generation. If this is the example, then I’m in good shape.
I ask, “Dad how are you feeling? It’s a little early for booze. Coffee would better.” He seems honestly confused and doesn’t understand what I’m saying. Dad says he feels dizzy and that his skin is sensitive to the touch. I’m thinking maybe he hit his head and it’s time to go to the ER.
I ask him all the normal questions. Have you eaten anything out of the ordinary? Did you take your medicine? He said that the only thing he had this morning was a brownie and coffee.
This is when a light goes off. Wait, my brother brought brownies. My brother doesn’t bake. He doesn’t bring food ever. Store bought maybe. But generally he just show up eats and drinks then leaves.
I find the brownies in the fridge, with a yellow sticky note attached for my sister saying: ENJOY, but don’t eat too many!
Lightbulb moment. Fucking hell! These aren’t regular brownies. The only reason I didn’t eat them is because I knew they weren’t gluten and dairy free.
So Dad is officially high as a kite. That explains everything he’s been saying.
I turn to Dad. I use my serious matter of fact mom voice and while taking a deep breath I tell him, “Dad you’re high. Those were pot brownies.” He stares at me. He looks even more confused. And then says, “You can cook brownies in a pot?”
Inner Monologue Moment: FUCK MY LIFE. I can’t deal with this shit.
I reply, “No Dad pot as in marijuana.” Again he stares at me like he doesn’t understand anything I’ve just said.
*mentally throws hands in the air*
I tell him NO MORE BROWNIES. Drink lots of water, and you’ll probably have the munchies. There’s lots of leftovers eat those.
I grab the brownies out of the fridge just to make sure he doesn’t go back for thirds.
Four hours later….
I hear a crash. Shit! What now??
I run downstairs and what do I find. My father holding a hammer and surrounded by broken glass. A broken picture and frame are on my floor. He still has the dazed look. But technically he should not be high anymore. Or at least not this high.
I yell at him, “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!?!?” He explains that he just wanted to help me hang up some of my pictures that I’ve been meaning to put up. But that the wall doesn’t like this particular picture￼.
I look at him, and I am at a loss for words. I see a wine glass on the kitchen counter. I ask, “Dad did you have wine?” He tells me that he made himself a little cocktail. He needed to relax and take off the edge from earlier. He poured himself a large glass of red and added a pill to it but can’t remember the name but it starts with the letter V and is meant to relax you.
Inner Monologue Moment: Fuck. Did he mix wine with Viagra?
I ask him if the pill was blue or white? He says white.
Inner Monologue Moment: Thank Christ! It’s a Valium. But wait is that any better? With all the drugs in his system now? Shoot me. What the fuck is going in my house? Why are so many drugs that I don’t know about?
In my defense I left him unsupervised.