Wayne

I don't talk about my dad much, kind of because there's no reason to. We don't get along that well...it usually doesn't take more than 5 minutes before one of us is pissed at the other. We don't have anything in common, and conversation doesn't flow very well between us. Heck, I haven't called him "dad" in a long time. I always think of the episode of "The Simpsons" where Homer keeps trying to get Bart to call him dad but Bart just keeps saying "Homer!" Well, Wayne did call tonight, catching me on my ride home from work. He was in Durham at a big truck shop, and he was wondering if I wanted to grab dinner before he headed out. Like a good daughter, I did agree. While I was waiting for him to show up at my place, I called my brother just to catch up. As we were talking I heard someone knock on my neighbor's door. I told my brother I'd better look out the peephole and make sure it wasn't Wayne. Yep, there was my father knocking on the wrong door. I've only lived here how long?