That Time Again

It's that time again. It happens three times per year, and I still haven't figured out how to deal with the situation.

By that time, I mean that it's time to attempt to figure out what to give my father for a gift.

This is next to impossible, because let's face it, the guy doesn't have any hobbies. He doesn't watch sports or NASCAR (the Non-Athletic Sport Centered Around Rednecks) or play golf. After ten years, he still refuses to do more with the horses than feed them carrots and horse cookies.

So what does he do? Well, if my mother kicks him in the ass enough, he helps weed the garden. He mows the lawn, and any unsuspecting flowers that aren't quick enough to jump out of his way. And he goes to work. We figure if it doesn't have anything to do with a sawmill he's not interested.

Yes, my father is proud to be depleting upstate New York's forests, one tree at a time. And no, I don't find it ironic that I have become interested in taking environmental studies classes in college. To each his own.

So what am I going to give my father for Father's day? A "new" straw farmer hat. Apparently he lost his, so I'm giving him mine. I might as well, since I only wear it once a year, if that.

Besides, then he won't have to spend $7.99 at Tractor Supply to buy his own.