In heading to lunch I spot my Dad speeding off in his black PT Cruiser and I give chase. On this side of town, there is only one place he is headed:The Smoke Shop. So I tail him for the couple of blocks to the shop. He parks and heads inside. I park and follow.
I catch him in the walk-in humidor. The place stinks with cigar smoke, raw pipe tobbacco and cheap perfume. I wrap on the glass sliding door of the humidor and the gig is up.
He comes out with the look a kid who got his hand caught in the cookie jar. I admonish him and tell him not to smoke, despite the stink eye I am now recieving from the shop's proprietor.
It is so hard to raise parents right these days...
Comments