Father's Day. Or How to Give the Man a Heart attack

Yes. Yesterday was Father's Day. And the girls gave MOTH some small gifts. And MOTH nagged me to call my own father.

A difficult task. Not that Pop Too and I don't get along. Quite the contrary. But he lives in another city, which means that I must actually pick up a phone and speak.

I don't have any trouble speaking. Anyone who knows me knows that quite well. I'm armed with opinions and like to share them around. But physically picking up a phone and calling. Well that's another thing entirely.

I hate them. Telephones. Says she who carts a mobile around with her. But that's the beauty of mobiles. You can SMS. Which means a conversation. Without speaking to someone.

But I did it. I phoned my father. Course, I had to fortify myself with a shopping trip first. Can't do these things cold turkey you know.

And I think he was pleasantly surprised. At least, I hope it was worth the effort. I save the phone calls for special occasions. Father's Day. Mother's Day. Christmas. ...... yep, that's about all.

But I do think of them often.

MOTH was pleased with his gifts. A voucher to use at Kmart. And dvd's. One featuring Jessica Alba. His favourite. And cards to go with them. Which, for some reason, both featured bodily functions. Of the same type. Which made him comment on their similarity. Accompanied by a sheepish smile and a bag full of denial. Wholly accurate, we vote. It's obviously a man thing.......