My parents

So, last Saturday I packed up the stuff I thought I would need for 1 - 6 months (yeah, try packing with no idea of how long you'll be somewhere) and took it to my parent's home. Yes, I am very grateful my parents agreed to put the dog and myself up for a somewhat questionable length of time.

First, I had to start cleaning. I know they are getting along in years, so they can't really see, and my dad has always been a bit of a pig pen, but I am telling you the place was disgusting.

My parents arrived back in town after visiting my aunt and uncle on Monday night.

Then the real fun began.

My father, "She's been cleaning. I can't find the Goddamn jigger." (Said, obviously in a totally disgusted voice.)

"The glass jigger on the counter? I just used it." (Now, my need for a jigger was legit this place and my lovely parents demand alcohol to survive. For my dad, it was purely academic, he wasn't making a drink. He was just pissed the bar area was clean.)

"No, not that one."

"The plastic one?" I asked.

"No, not that one."

"What does it look like?" I asked.

"I can't remember, but it's missing."

OK.