A Familiar Conversation With My Father

Me: Hey dad, you remember those really important papers I left on your desk a few weeks back. The ones you said you would take care of before you left?

Dad: Yes.

Me: Remember how a few days after that you put them back on my desk and said they were taken care of?

Dad: Yes.

Me: Well, I just got a letter saying they weren't taken care of.

Dad: Yeah.

Me: And...

Dad: Yeah, I was thinking of taking care of them. And then I didn't.

Me: Well obviously, but why not?

Dad: I just figured it would be ok.

Me: What?

Dad: I figured it would take care of itself, like that other thing.

Me: What other thing?

Dad: You know that other thing from a few weeks back you asked me to take care of.

Me: You didn't take care of that?

Dad: Nope.

Me: Shit.

Dad: Or that other thing from a few months back. That just took care of itself.

Me: That other thing took me three weeks of fifteen hour days to sort out. It just didn't take care of itself.

Dad: Really?

Me: What did you just think it was fucking magic? Did you think little fucking fairies waved their little fucking fairy wands and everything was just magically fucking better? Did you think little fucking elves snuck into the office and took care of all that shit that wasn't done when you went home every fucking night and was mysteriously finished the next morning? Is that what you fucking thought?

Dad: I don't know.

Me: Shit.