Monday, 8 October 2012

Parents Of The Navigator

I visited my parents last weekend. As usual, they were in top form, and freshly tanned from their recent holiday.

Mum: It was lovely. We went paragliding - you know, with waterskis.

Me: Isn't Dad afraid of heights?

Mum: Weeeeell. It was on my bucket list.

Me: Uh huh.

Mum: He got over it.

Me: I see.

Dad: (giggling in the other room) Did she tell you about what happened in the airport?

Mum: Shh, you!

It turns out that my parents got off the plane and wandered around for a while trying to find the bus depot. The conversation apparently went along the these lines:

Dad: Right, so we're looking for bus number 10.

Mum: (brightly) Okay!

Dad: Um. These buses end at number 9, but there's another couple over there, so let's have a look to see if it's one of those.

Mum: What's the number 10 in Spanish?

Dad: What?

Mum: The number 10. What is it? We could ask someone where it is.

Dad: We're... we're in Rhodes, honey.

Mum: Oh. So we are.

Dad: I... I don't even... just let me handle this, okay?

Mum: (totally unabashed) Sure, whatever you think!

The worst part is, this is a totally normal conversation for them. My parents, ladies and gentleman! They're here all week! Tip your waitress, try the veal.

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