Should I Be Concerned?

My father told me he was going to Walgreens today (Editors note: by today I meant Sunday... I have a job you know). This does not surprise me. He loves that place. For complete serious. He can spend HOURS browsing the isles coming back two, three, fours days later with two plastic bags full of such delights as Wrigley's DoubleMint Kona Cream Gum, i.e. coffee flavored spearmint, that he bought for .09 cents, and Clean & Clear face glow moisturizer that he assumes one of the three ladies of the house could dig. And if not, he informs me, as he lathers his hands with the metallic-like substance, it works on the body so no harm done. No, no harm done... to your hands. But your sweater? Yeah, "glow" taints my friends. Regardless, it's always fun to unpack the treasures my father finds at Walgreens. Unsuprisingly most fall under the "man I was so high at our company's product development symposium" category so they are practically gifted away. And my family does not reject gifts unless it surpasses the governments $1.5M lifetime gift exemption. Even then, I would take it and move to El Salvador where the word "extradite" is only used in terms of teeth cleaning. But alas today I was denied such pleasures. Why you ask? Because my father lied. He normally doesn't lie. Nunca. In fact I'd say his "honesty" can at times be....hmmm what's the word...douche-icitus. Like when he always says he liked my hair better before after I've returned from the salon in tears with a new hair cut that I asked the stylist to mimic Rachel Bilson only to realize after the scissors hit the hair shaft that she doesn't know who Rachel Bilson is but she knows of another famous Rachel, i.e. Rachel Green from Friends that she just so happened to have caught on reruns the night before in that episode where Ross and Rachel FINALLY get together and was that not who I was talking about? Comma, oh dear.

But anyway...I digress.

My father did not end up going to Walgreens because he, like many of us, got lured in by the ridiculous sales signs all over department stores. Don't you feel like those numbers on the colored cardboards are singing to you?..."Making your way in the world today takes everything you've got...wouldn't you like to get away....sometime you wanna go where everybody knows your name, and they're always glad you came...." I know they know my name, especially at Barney's Co-Op, but in all heart attack, the sales dudes...the sales! Sidenote: I just bought some freaking sweet ass boots for 70% of. 70 PERCENT OFF. Only in this crippling economy guys. Where was I? Ah yes, so about four hours after the whole, "Oye, me voy a Walgreens, nos vemos" convo, my Dad comes back with some purchases. Sadly, none of them are of the macadamia nut flavored Neosporin variety but instead clothes for hisself. Two pairs of jeans. Alright. A bit baggy for my taste but perhaps my dad doesn't like constriction. Nor do I like the fact that I thought about my father's idea of what he finds constricting, or if he constricts, or anything related to anything ever never ever never never nunca never ever about my father and constriction in any sense of wanting constriction or just constriction with father.never. Next came a suit jacket that whatever. I mean it's a suit jacket. He tells me he'll wear it to tango. By all means go for it. And then....

And then he busts out his most favorite find of the day, a hunter green terry track suit from Juicy Couture...for men. Number one: They make Juicy Couture track suits for men? Number two: They make Juicy Couture track suits for men and men are buying them? Number three: They make Juicy Couture track suits for men and men are buying them and by men I mean my father? Is Speechless. I instinctively checked his wrists and hands for any silver chain bracelets or some sort of a leather cuff or perhaps a thick ring in the shape of a cross. WHAT.THE.FUCK. My mind immediately starts running and I take myself back to last weekend. Father in the kitchen. Long-sleeve fitted thermal with a skull emblazoned with what I thought when the sun hit it just so was a rhinestone but turned out to be an eyelash in my eye. He had paired that winner with a striped scarf. I laughed it off as a fluke but now? It is true that many a times good deals dictate what my father wears. He is anything if not monetarily savvy. And it's true that sometimes he does not know of what he wears. Take for instance fifteen years ago. My father is gifted, or found, or whatever a t-shirt that read "Vivo y Positivo!". He wore that beauty all the time because it was colorful and free and he thought it was a lovely shout-out to the art of thinking optimistically since the literal translation of the phrase reads, "Alive and Positive!" But no. The shirts were made for an AIDs walk-a-thon two years prior. Get it. Alive and Positive. I mean we all knew that. I thought he did too. It wasn't until I finally decided to verbally commend him for the solidarity that he awakened to the gist of the shirt. He hasn't worn it since. Not that he was offended by it in any way but you know he is clocking at a mean 135 pounds on a good week. Totally unfair, really high metabolism, but yeah.

So my point to this long winded rant is...should I be concerned? It starts with Juicy and faux Ed Hardy but then what? True Religion jeans? John Hardy wallet chain? SPRAY TAN!!!!!!!

I think we need to stage an intervention. Agree?