Anecdote 3

When I was younger, the best part of my day was when my Dad got home from work. He always had a the smell of fresh paint on him, as well as paint peeling off his forearms. He had a rountine. Went into the bathroom, washed his hands. Looked in the fridge and gave it a sigh. Opened up the mail, and asked me how my day was. He was drained by the time he got home, and I knew he wasn't really in the mood to have a conversation.