“Turnabout Fair Play”

My Dad did not tell

even his bride how he’d vote:

Said* him not their wealth!


*(After mom died, I gave dad his breakfast sidedish: their joint-account checkbook and bank statements.  I said that since I was on the list as co-owner, I would be happy to “do the books” but that he should know what was what and make a stab at it anyway.  He agreed and opened the statement.  Several long, very long seconds.  “That much?  And you knew?  Why’t you tell me?”  I smiled and brought forth from Mom’s galley my grapefruit-broil and bacon-butter-n-pineapple preserves toast sammich, “Hey! Dad!  I never told her about the two, three grand you got in hundreds in your wallet that I exchanged in ones and two over the years for your Twenties you made in those so-called side jobs across the lake with your cronies.” He turned his eyes to his plate of over-easy, grits orange-n-grapefruit sections just-mixed from the trees outside and both (bacon AND sausage but just 2-n-one!) and shook his head slowly side-to-side, grinning the while.”

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