No, he's not a district attorney, unfortunately. He's a cook at Flying J. He is the kind of guy who has trouble keeping a job, as a matter of fact. I just got a call from my daughter saying that he punched the door, and that he might have broken his hand. Great. I guess this means that he may be out of work very soon. I know one thing -- he's not living with us. I hope I really mean it. ~sigh~
Update: He has a "boxer's fracture." The ER splinted it, but they didn't set it. He's got to go to another doctor to get it set for yet another $300.
Why, why, why did he do that??? I'm just glad he didn't punch my daughter or my grandson, but if he would punch the door hard enough to break his hand -- when will it be that he does hurt someone else?
My daughter says she's going to leave him every few days. I know better than to count on it.
I would like to have the kind of life that wouldn't be featured on daytime television someday. I know it may not seem appropriate for me to share this kind of information with the blogosphere, but I have to spill it. I have had a lifetime of carrying around similar stuff -- NOT Scott, of course. Later I will say more.
Posted by 2Flower at September 21, 2004 09:16 PMAh! Took me a moment to decypher DA, but I've got it now... ;)
Sounds pretty immature. [sigh] I also hope he doesn't end up living with you.
It's just one thing after another, isn't it?
Posted by: pam at September 22, 2004 10:23 AM