Don can no longer dress in regular men’s clothing. No shoestrings on shoes or buttons on shirts or zippers on pants. He trashed his last pair of slippers, so I bought him some cushy slip-on slippers with a pull tab for easy DIY comfort. I figured he could use some of his lifetime experience using pull tabs on beer cans. Something he has now mastered with one hand. Last night he fell to sleep with his new slippers still on his feet. He was murmuring something about warm, comfortable slippers.
This morning I find Don up and wandering in a circle around his recliner in his slip-on tennis shoes.
Kristy: What happened to your new slippers? Why aren’t you wearing them?
Don: These are more comfortable?
Kristy: ….. than brand new slippers?
Don: What?
I exit the bedroom to finish up kitchen duty and I hear the shuffling of new slippers coming my direction. Don changed out of his shoes and slowly emerges from the hallway with his Seahawk blankie in tow.
Kristy: Can I help you with something?
Don: Where are my golf clubs?
Kristy: In Mexico. Why do you need golf clubs?
Don: Yeah, I need to know what time the tournament starts?
Kristy: Nobody around here putting on a golf tournament in freezing cold temperatures, pouring rain with high wind advisories.
Don: You don’t know what you are talking about.
Kristy: OK, look out the window. Freezing temperatures, pouring rain and high wind advisories. Do you want to go out and golf in that bad weather?
Don: I know.
Kristy: You know what exactly?
Don: That you need to take this Seahawk blanket upstairs to your office.
Just another day at Huckleberry House, where Don prefers not to think before speaking. I think he enjoys being just as surprised as everyone else by what comes out of his mouth.
Giving up the Seahawk blankie that April and Jorge gave him is alarming. I wonder what is up with that?
Note to Self: I’m the one who doesn’t know what I’m talking about? He’s the one talking about a phantom golf tournament with clubs located a thousand miles away.