Dad: Your hair looks so beautiful, LaVerne. It’s so lush and curly.

Mom: Oh shut up…

Dad: I’m giving you a compliment.  A genuine compliment and you tell me to shut up.

Mom: You only compliment my hair when it’s time for me to get a perm.

Dad: Is it that time again?

Mom: All right Bonzo! The gig is up. I saw you looking at my calendar to see if it was time for me to make an appointment.

Dad: Whatever do you mean, my love?

Dad looks guiltier than sin.

Mom: You just don’t want to shell out eighty five dollars for my perm.

Dad: EIGHTY FIVE DOLLARS! I could buy a new toupee with that kind of money.

Mom: I’m getting my hair done and that is that.

Dad: Eighty five dollars.  I could buy puzzles with that money or go to the casino or…

Mom: I could buy rolls of duct tape with that money and keep your mouth duct taped for quite a long time.

Dad opens his wallet. I swear I can see moths fly out of it. It’s been that long since he’s opened it.

Dad: I’ve got one dollar.

Mom: And I have the debit card. You can keep your dollar.

Dad put the dollar back in his wallet and all the photos fall out in one big clump.

Mom: Looks like your photos have molded to the shape of your butt. Let me throw that out for you.

Dad: No, these are photos of the kids.

Mom: How can you tell? They are melted together and half their faces are gone.

Dad: I know what they look like. I like to remember our kids when they were little. I like to remember them when they listened to me and  I could tell them their opinion. Now they are quite loud with their opinions and they usually don’t match mine. Even the cat has an opinion.

He puts the clump of photos back in his wallet.

Mom: Did I just see a photo of the cat in that clump?

Dad: No, no you didn’t.

Mom: You have a photo of the cat in your wallet?! Honestly…

Dad: He’s the only great grandchild that I will ever have.

Mom: You’re an old softy.  I love you, ya know that? You may be a cheapskate and a stubborn cuss but you’re my cheapskate and stubborn cuss.

Dad: Does this mean you’re not going to get your hair done?

Mom: Dream on, Bastardo, dream on…