Daily Flash Fiction Challenge

I live with my elderly father. Need I say more?

I know it will be worse when he needs physical help getting through his day, but right now it’s just those annoying, repetitive jokes and sayings and salutations that grind on me.

Here’s a partial list:

“Howdy, Bub!” (Bub? I’m a woman. Hello?), “What’s the plan, Stan?” (My name is Dorothy.), “Did you hear the one about…?” (Fill in the blanks. They are always the same corny, sometimes off-color, sometimes racist jokes.), “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” (And what if it is, Pops?) …

You get the picture.

My siblings didn’t want the responsibility of my father after our mother died two years ago. I couldn’t see Pops living in an assisted living center with strangers, so here I am, taking care of him. It’s not a question of financial hardship; he contributes to the household. I just feel trapped.

I’m forty-six-years-old, divorced, and childless. I would like to meet someone and have a real life, but I can’t with Pops living here. To be candid, though, I didn’t have a life before he moved in. My dating experiences had been disastrous, and I was lonely—well, alone, anyway. I can’t say that now.

He was always there for me as I was growing up. I guess turn-about is fair play. He has a sunny nature, most of the time. He went through a bad patch after my mom died, but he’s better now. We do get along, I just get frustrated, sometimes.

He’s getting ready for his day. As soon as he has combed his hair and slapped on some Old Spice, he will call out to me.

“What’s the plan, Stan?”

Bless his pea-picking heart.