My dad is starting to feel better since his most recent near-death experience in early February. He’s had a dozen ~this is it, everyone say goodbye, he’s dying a vicious death right now~ emergencies in the past two and a half years. I have said goodbye, accepted death, wept all brand of tears and then reset to prepare for the cycle to repeat so many times I’ve lost count and most of my faculties. As of today, the cycle isn’t over and we’re back in stage 1 — Coasting, which means the emergencies have subsided, he can walk again and he feels cognizant enough to engage in one of his favorite pastimes: calling to give me useless and unhinged life advice that he swears will make me a Billionaire with a capital B if I do exactly what he says except the advice is never grounded in the reality of planet earth.
A few days ago, I texted him pictures of the meals I’ve been making for myself lately, so yesterday he calls me and says:
Dad: Hey! Do you ever go to Denny’s?
Ani: Hi dad! Not really, but I have been to Denny’s.
Dad: Yeah, I don’t go to Denny’s either, but listen, people do go to Denny’s. So here’s what you gotta do — go into a Denny’s, ideally when they’re having a slow week, and give them your food pictures to use on their menus! Your pictures look so good, you have to get into the menu business! If you got into the menu business you’d…
