100 Photos

My dad’s girlfriend, yes his girlfriend, is 84 years old. He is 89. She was down from New York for the winter. She comes down every year and rents a home in the same retirement community where my dad lives. All of her children and grandchildren live in New York, so she depends on the kindness of strangers to get her through some things like, say technology. That’s where I usually have to “help.” I don’t really help her, I usually have to perform whatever task she may need. Sometimes, it’s not pleasant for me to assist her.

Her great grandchild was Christened last week and her daughter sent photos to my dad’s email account. Seven in all. She asked me if I could get them for her and print them. Well, just because I was smack in the middle of something else was no reason to turn her down. To my dad’s computer I went. My laptop is not connected to the printer at his house, and probably won’t be until she goes back to New York.

First, dad’s computer was so filled with viruses, because he clicks on everything, that I had to perform the computer saving steps before I could even get to his email. About an hour later, I finally got into his email. His inbox was so full that I had to delete most of what was in it in order to access the box. Most of what he gets are forwarded jokes that he likes to print and carry to daily club gatherings to share with his friends. Hence, the reason for the viruses. I could not tell what message was from whom as his inbox was a mess. In the process of deleting the bounced mail, I must have deleted the message from Girlfriend’s daughter with the seven precious photos.

I explained the situation and asked Girlfriend to call her daughter and have her send the photos to Wal-Mart, as that would really be easier and the photos would be nicer than if printed from the computer. My dad just had to chime in, “Yes, Mary, have Roseanne send the photos to Wal-Mart. I got 100 photos for twenty dollars.”

Girlfriend: “Oh, no. I don’t want 100 photos. There are only seven that Roseanne is sending.”

Dad: “No, Mary. You get as many as you order.” Even he understands this concept.

Girlfriend: “But I don’t need 100 photos!”

Dad: “You will only get as many as you order.”

Girlfriend: “Well, I don’t need 100 photos.”

I left the room and he took her home. The following day, the conversation continued. I asked my dad before he brought her over if she got the photos ordered.

Dad: “No, Roseanne said she didn’t need 100 photos. I tried to explain to both of them that you get what you order.”

Me: “Oh MY God. Roseanne can’t figure out how to order photos at Wal-Mart?”

Dad: “No, but she is going to call Wal-Mart today and talk to someone and have them explain to her how to do it.”

Me: “You have to be kidding! It’s not rocket science. It’s Wal-Mart where every Yahoo in the world gets their photos!”

Enter Girlfriend later: “Hi Jan! (a term reserved my family and very close friends only, but certainly not her). Roseanne didn’t order my photos yet. She said we don’t need 100 photos.”

Me: “Hi Mary. You don’t have to get 100 photos. You can order ONE if you only want ONE. You can order TWO if you only want TWO. You have seven photos. You can order and get only SEVEN!”

Girlfriend: “Well, I just don’t need 100 photos, so I’m going to wait until I get home to New York to see them.”

I need a nap. They make me tired.

The next day:

Here’s the newest in the continuing saga of the $h!T my dad says (I’m still mad that someone else printed a book with that title!) This entire ordeal lasted no more than three minutes.

I called my dad and got his voicemail. We don’t leave messages because he can’t retrieve them. I made another call and when I was on that call, Dad called me back and left a message.

I retrieved his message and it went like this, “Jan. I tried to answer your call, but I couldn’t get my phone out of my pocket in time. My niece, your cousin, Sue, died today.” His voice trailed off into a sad situation. “That’s all I know.”

I immediately called him back.

Dad: “Hello. Who is this?” Lots of rumbling going on like maybe he dropped the phone or his GF was “on” him…

Me: “Hi dad, it’s me. I just got your message.”

Dad: “Kathy? Is this number two?”

Me: “No, it’s number three.” He has us numbered. I’m the youngest of three and therefore called number three. So glad I’m not called number two…

Dad: “Oh you sounded like number two. I left you a message.”

Me: “I know. I just got the message.”

Dad: “Your cousin Sue died today. Did you get my message?”

Me: “I know. Yes, I just got your message.”

Dad: “Your cousin Sue died today.”

Me: “I KNOW!”

Dad: “You know? How did you find out already?”


Dad: “Did you get my message?”

Me: “Yes, I just told you that! I got your message!”

Dad: “OH! You got my message then!”

And by the way: I don’t need 100 photos!”



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