While in the house I remembered I'd forgotten the ice cream too, and dashed downstairs to the freezer. Apparently I'd taken a bit more time than expected hunting up four weenie dishes because GG had turned off the engine and was leaned back into his seat...eyes closed.
We were enjoying tea in the garden of GG's parent's home when GG's Dad casually remarked, "You know, these aren't my socks I'm wearing. I'm wearing somebody else' s socks." Now, I wasn't shocked by this statement because GG's Dad isn't crazy and I happened to know that what he said was true.
And I turned to him and casually asked, "Is there a hole in the right sock?" GG's Mother burst into hysterical laughter. I repeated, "Is there a hole in the right sock?" "No. why?" "Because the socks I washed for you two weeks ago while you were utilizing the Canadian Health Care System (Bow Down and Kiss the Earth) not only weren't yours, they also had a hole in the right sock."
When GG noticed he was carrying a wussie picnic basket, I offered to return it to the van and in my hurry hit my flip-flopped foot quite hard against the curb. As I ran back into the home I noticed my foot was bleeding and thought best to wash it. I ran into GG's Dad's bathroom, stuck my foot into his sink, ran water, noticed some disinfectant looking stuff on the counter with a long unfamiliar name, squirted some onto my bleeding toes, and stuck my flip flops back on.
We said our goodbyes, hugged and kissed and while walking down the hallway to the stairwell, GG said, "Why are your toes foaming?" And my toes on the left foot foamed another two hours and felt squishy the rest of the afternoon, while we went off into the sunset taking photographs of this gorgeous Thanksgiving Day Monday.
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