The Playboy of the Western World

I found out why my father-in-law keeps ending up in the emergency ward.

Would you like to know why my father-in-law keeps ending up in the emergency ward?

Guess why my father-in-law keeps ending up in the emergency ward.

I'll tell you why.


When I met this man twenty years ago he was partying like an 18 year old. He smoked 2 packs of cigarettes a day. He drove a Porsche. He could drink like a fish and never show the effects, work all day, cruise tail all night and then come home to the waiting arms of a new guy every few months. Not b-list desperation cases, either...hot college guys.

Magically twinklicious college guys.

Doe-eyed, slutty college guys, tight pants, magnificent upper body development-type-of-guys.

Shall I stop now? OK.

He knew everyone. Everyone knew him-and liked him. He always had visitors and he always had plans. In fact, it became apparent after I'd known him awhile that my father-in-law, a man in his late 60's at the time, was the guy in the group that all the other guys hung out with so they could catch the overflow.
It was NUTS.
This was not like the 60-year-old people I remembered. The 60-year-old people I remembered had canes and smelled like pee and watched television all day.

Make no mistake, this is still one charming, sexy old bastard, too. I mean, he's one of those people who's got 'IT'. He walks into a room and everyone knows. Or rolls into the room at this stage of the game. Still.

20 years later. The man can't drive his Porsche any more. He can't climb a set of stairs. He has COPD, he uses oxygen, he wears compression stockings and uses a walker. Has this slowed him down? Oh HELL no, buttercup.

Now they come to him.

For example, when I busted him and the cute cable guy right after he'd moved in to assisted living I just figured "Aw, what a nice kid." (No, no, nothing gross...just a little bluster and delay answering the door and a couple of big grins. This has happened before and I've kind of figured out what's up by now.)

After it happened a few more times I started realizing that my father in law knew ALL the nice young kids. In Washington. Possibly in the entire Northwest. And Vancouver.

The last time was a couple of weeks ago, when I busted one of the surfer-boy maintenance guys leaving his place (poor kid saw me standing there and blushed purple.) I just smiled and walked on by. Room service. Just one of the many features of modern assisted living.

One of the Fan Club clued me in to the rest of the story. "Why do you think he never answers the phone in the evenings? You know he hardly spends any time there. Everyone's dragging him to the clubs."

Now he's in interim care for a few weeks. I went in today to pick up a few things from his apartment for him. The day manager had a quiet word with me on the elevators.
"You know, I think he's....overdoing things..." she said. Then she paused and did the Groucho Marx eyebrows thing a couple of times at me. I blinked.
"He goes out a lot. And he he has a LOT of...um...visitors." She did the 'woo woo' thing with her eyebrows again.

-Oh.

I thanked her nicely, got off the elevator, and waited for the doors to close before I started snorting and whooping. It hurt.

Evidence left behind at the scene confirmed her theory.

Here is some good advice: You should be careful what drawer you check when you look for someones' medication. Lots of people keep it in the kitchen. Like my father in law does. Not in the bedside table. No, he certainly does NOT keep his medication in his bedside table.

No, he doesn't.




So then.
Why is my father-in-law in the hospital?





My father in law is in the hospital for overexertion.

Jesus Christ.