UGH.

My father has decided we need to do a thorough hoe-out of the basement. I certainly agree this is warranted and yet I don't want to help out. I am willing to go in and do the work solo, or ideally, alongside Laura. I have gone so far as to appeal to him that I'd like to work in solitude, just explaining vaguely that I just happen to work better alone. What I can't stand (but can't bring myself to tell him) is how he continually runs his big yapper. If he could keep his dialogue 100% factual and nix the editorializing, than he just might be tolerable to work with. He says he wants to clean out, yet he has to make this big to do when you tell him that Box X is all stuff to junk. "This? You want to throw out this? Why, I bet it was never even worn" Oh, a specific gem from tonight-- "You sure you don't want this Hard Rock Cafe shirt? Boy, that's a nice one. 'Genuine Hard Rock Cafe Apparel'. Bet that cost some. Was that your Hard Rock Cafe shirt? That's a nice one. 'Genuine Hard Rock Cafe Apparel' .." No, I'm not repeating myself... I'm authentically transcribing his ramblings. He must have read that tag 3 or 4 times and said the phrase "Hard Rock Cafe" 100 times. Except he was pronouncing it "Cuff-FAY" which really rankled me. But I was pretty repetitive myself, I confess. I was all: "Nope" "No thanks" "NOIDON'TWANT IT" "I don't want that ugly shirt. I hate it. NOTHANKYOU"

Oooh, I should take it easy on mi padre. He's an old feller and I should cut him some slack. But to cut myself some slack...I think one would have to be superhuman not to be irked by him. Empirically, he just IS irksome. And I manage to suppress like, 95% of my irritation...