Another Story for the Parental Archive

This past weekend, Mr. Wonderful and I took my parents to the Petersen Automotive Museum in Hollywood as a belated Father's Day gift for my dad. In traditional fashion, my mom showed up with holiday gifts in tow. A wooden "Merry Christmas" sign and a sprig of real mistletoe for us to hang somewhere in the house. As if newlyweds need parasitic plants around to prompt them to kiss...

Having not visited since the spring, my mom and dad were very interested in all the details of our house. They loved seeing our holiday decorations and the new coffee table Mr. W built (future post to come...and by the way, I was in a furniture store recently and noticed that they're now calling them "cocktail tables"—is this a new thing?). In the hallway, my mom temporarily confused a picture of her own mother-in-law with Mr. W's grandma, saying, "That looks just like Grandma Hetherington!" Yes, that's because it is Grandma Hetherington.
 

When my dad put his glasses on in the hall to inspect all the pictures a bit more closely, he too malfunctioned:

I immediately started to laugh, and he very dramatically yanked them from his face and stared at them in horror, declaring, "I thought one of my eyes had gone bad!"

This isn't the first time my dad's been convinced he has lost his sight. He has a tendency to immediately jump to the worst-case scenario rather than think logically for a moment that perhaps it's just dark or there's a lens missing from his glasses.

My mom was standing in a nearby doorway doing the silent cackle we know so well as the precursor to pants-peeing incidents. Like the one before Christmas in 2008. Mr. W later said he was very worried that she would have to borrow a pair of his jeans to wear to the museum.

Thankfully, we all left the house dry and sighted.

The best part of touring the museum with my parents was all the stories they shared as we looked at the different cars. A refurbished streetcar reminded my mom of how she used to take the "dinky" from Montrose to Glendale as a kid. Another car sparked a story about a thief jumping on the running board of my great grandparents' Ford (or was it a Chrysler...or a Studebaker...) and reaching inside trying to steal my great grandmother's jewels right from her neck. The race cars brought up a tale of my grandpa's cousin who had been a professional driver and lost his leg in a crash. And the suburban garage display of course reminded us of what my parents' garage looked like for years and years.

Mr. W and I took them to lunch at Umami Burger when we were all through, and tried not to be too embarrassed as my dad read the menu with one hand covering the missing lens of his glasses.

Near the register at Umami, there was a tray of homemade ding dongs that somehow my mother heard the waiter say were "favors." As though that's the new thing in Hollywood—you go to a restaurant and then you get a little gift for dining there. I think the waiter was describing the "flavors."

So I have one blind parent and one deaf one...

Overall, it was a highly entertaining day made better by the stories that were told to us—and created by my parents' hijinks. We may take them out again on the town sometime soon. As long as my dad vows to buy new glasses and my mom promises not to have to borrow any of Mr. W's jeans.