Insert Foot Into Mouth

Sometimes I just do not say the best things in a time of stress. Take for instance a suggestion I made the the other day to Bill because he was totally sick with worry over his mother.

"Bill, why don't you turn on that show you like to watch about those people digging up skulls?"

I realize what I said and try to cover it up quickly.

"I mean, you know that show called Ancestors."

Not exactly the thing you suggest to a man whose mother is sick with cancer.

But then he does not always say the right things either. He told me the other day that he suggested to his father that he (his father) should ask Kenny (his brother) to get his mother some pot to help with the side-effects of chemo. Now, did he just tell his father that his brother not only knew where to buy pot but that he (his brother) probably smoked a joint on occasion?

And do you know what came across my mind as he told me all this? I envisioned his seventy-two year old mother sitting on her favorite recliner in her living room smoking a joint as the parish priest or visiting nurse comes by.

Then it occurred to me that we could be flying down to Florida to post bail for all three. His brother for dealing. His father for buying. His mother for using.

Let's stick to prescription drugs.