Zombie Dad

Dad's home from the hospital. My sister called just after I went to bed this morning. I called back when I got up to go the toilet.

Everything went well. They even worked on the correct knee. He's at the house, snoozing under the blanket of pain medication.

With the pain medication, that whole zombie-thing may be more of an apt descriptor than I'd thought.

Mom says they've got his leg wrapped from hip to ankle in gauze.

Zombie Knee. Mummy Leg.

To my mind, Mummy is a just a Zombie on an Ego Trip. Don't matter to me if they royalty or not. You're just the Undead in Gauze. I'll use my katana and my sock full of nickels on a mummy just as quick as I will you're old run-of-the-mill flannel-wearing mall-shopping zombie.

To their credit, Mummies have Rachel Weisz in their movies. Zombies just have Sarah Polley.

They gave Dad a weekend's worth of Oxycontin. I tried to tell him to give Rush a call, and to spend what he made from the sale on Aleve and Butterscotch Pudding. Because Butterscotch Pudding makes everything better. Especially if it's made with whiskey.

Shouldn't I be asleep right now?

Yes.

But I should also eat like 8 servings of vegetables a day, so you can see I'm not a stickler for shouldabeens.