Every Saturday night, my dad loves to watch Lawrence Welk. For you young whippersnappers, Lawrence Welk was a big band leader from way, way, way back in my parents’ youth. For years, he had a TV show that featured young coiffed couples hopping around to the polka, among other dances. My folks loved it.

We kids? Not so much.

Just to cover those nights when Lawrence Welk isn’t on TV (he seems to be pre-empted quite frequently. Go figure!), I bought a DVD to slip in.

So last Saturday night, my mom went over to Dad’s Board and Care to settle in for the Lawrence Welk night. The evening was warm, so Dad’s sliding door was open but the vertical blinds were down.

Suddenly, in crashed a woman through the vertical blinds, dragging a tube of oxygen behind her, into Dad’s room and plopped down on his bed. Dad jumped up, tried to get her out of his room but she refused. “I’m not leaving!” she said with vehemance. And she started watching Lawrence Welk.

Turns out that she’s a new resident and got a little confused about whose room was whose.

Lawrence Welk always had that kind of affect on women.

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