He's getting a manicure and haircut today. T&S, my mom's stylists (she turned my dad into a metrosexual) are making a special house trip. He's so excited because, accoring to him: "My nails look awful, they're ragged and dull and my sideburns are uneven." If he wasn't married with two children, I'd think he was gay. Plus, apparently, T&S are going to fill him in on all the gossip he missed while he was out of service. A regular hen party, that.
He walked the other day, which made us all giddy. It's like he's a toddler or something. Everytime he walks or uses the bathroom by himself, it's a big deal. It's kind of funny in a tragic kind of way. But he is getting better, everyday. And how do I know this?
I know Bobito is doing better when he spends his downtime thinking up ways to torture my mom and bro, who occasionally assume martyr-like airs. Never mind how he tortures them, it's kind of gross, but it did make my Uncle Dave laugh so hard he almost fell out of his chair. Pure evil genius and oh so Bobito. All was revealed to me tonight on the phone and I'm glad I'm 2,000 miles away and thus immune to Bobito's evilness. But damn, is it funny.
