Phone rings, 7:40 am.
"Hey mom, what's up?"
Well shit, "Okay mom, what did Poppy do?"
"I got up, he wasn't here, checked the guest room, he wasn't there, checked the bathrooms, the deck, nothing. His pickup is gone!"
Now I'm worried. Eleven days post-op, ICU, 4 feet of upper intestine gone, went to Urgent Care yesterday with a wound infection, now sporting colloidal silver dressings and an antibiotic pump, not supposed to drive for two more weeks and he doesn't carry a cell phone.
"I'll call McDonald's and see if he's there with the ROMEOs."
"He's there, Don just called, he's driving him home and Jan will bring the pickup. I'm gonna kill him."
"Can you wait until tomorrow? I'd like to chew on him myself."
"You got it." Click.
Just picked up a packet of 64 get well cards. I'll take them tomorrow. Thank you all so very much!
We'll let him read them before we kill him.