Stopping by the 'rents

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"I might be going crazy."

"We've known that since you were five and changed into a new dress before and after every meal."

"Dad, that's not crazy. That's knowing how to make an entrance." I toss my hair over my shoulder and then laugh at myself for doing it.

"Ok, ok," he says shaking his head at me. "So, what is it this time?"

"I can't find my hammer anywhere at my house."

His eyebrows rise. "Did you check your toolbox?"

"First place I looked. See? That fancy private university degree you paid for comes in handy sometimes."

"Hey, since you brought it up, when am I getting reimbursed for that?"

"Dad," I sigh. "There are more important things at hand than the tens of thousands of dollars you spent on my education. I really need to find my hammer. Did you use it last time you were at my house?"

"Nope." He answers without looking up from his book.

"Are you sure? Focus. Pleeeeease. Hammer?"

Looking up over his glasses he squints. "Oh! I think it's in the garage. I told you that last weekend."

"No, no, no! You told me you left the pliers in the garage."

"Right. Same thing."

I snatch the book out of his hands. "Who are you? My real father would never say a hammer and pliers are the same thing because my REAL father spent hours with me in the garage going over the importance of knowing the name and use of every tool ever made. I want my REAL dad back."

"Sweetheart, about that. Maybe it's time we have a little talk..."

Cutting him off I say, "Not funny. I'm leaving."

Between guffaws he tells me he lovees me and before I have a chance to get out the door he shouts over his shoulder for me to wait. "Heeeeeeey, did I tell you I left your hammer in the garage last weekend?"

"Love you too, Dad," and I slam the door.