My Father, Part 2

One day a couple years ago, my dad got up, got dressed, and started his morning futzing. At some point mid-day, he started bitching about how he couldn’t find his wallet. (NB: My father can’t find anything. Ever.) After a while, my mom asked him where and when he had it last.

“Right in the back pocket of my jeans last night!” (He was wearing yesterday’s jeans again, of course.)

My mom went over to a pair of jeans that had been draped over a chair and pulled Dad’s wallet out of the back pocket. “Here it is,” she tells him.

Dad looked down at his pants and said, “Well, what jeans am I wearing?”

Mom took one look and replied, “Mine.”