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It started by being barked awake by the pugs because my father had locked himself out of my house at the crack of dawn and was banging on the door. He had unloaded his beverly hillbilly truck in my driveway and needed to store some things in the garage for the day including: 4 suitcases, a red sequined dress, a tire, and some boots. So he asked me to hit the garage door button. I did and the door went up halfway then stopped with a nice screeching sound. He forgot to tell me he'd turned some lever from the other side of the door. Nice. I fiddled with that for a few minutes with his "help" until I could get the door all the way open so I could get my car out. Then I had to run and take a quick shower before picking up my mom to take her to a drop off point where she'd be picked up by a co-worker to go to an out of town conference. I show up to her house on time, but not so pretty, and a little freaked out about having to tell my husband that my father broke our garage door, only to find my mom in wet hair and a nightgown. Just then I get a call from my sister saying they are turning on to my street. Cheese and rice! I got my mom dropped off and got home to find the garage door "fixed" and everyone ready to go. Once I was satisfied that the door would open and shut and only after my dad told me "Yeah, I saved you by fixing this door!"- what? saved me? no, slick you saved yourself a big bill and an ass whooping- we got on the road. An hour or so into the trip and our father is bragging about how he gets discounts on camp sites since he's totally disabled, a veteran, and completely handicapped. AND HE'S DRIVING. I drove home and I swear if my house had an open bar me and the bar keep would be best friends by now.
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