"We need to talk when we get home."

    Today is Dad's 93d birthday. James, Cristina and Mia (his grandson, granddaughter-in-law and great-granddaughter) had to drive back to Charlotte to get a plane back to Boston, so we had to go out to lunch rather than supper. That was at Outback. While the service was abysmal, we still had a very nice time and, eventually, pretty good food. But since it turns out that Dad doesn't like Outback (a news flash; he always seemed to like it before), I guess we won't have to go back there anymore. (Although they have a reasonably extensive gluten-free menu, I always find it to be a trial myself.)
    I drove Dad and Margaret there and home. On the way home, Dad said to me, "I need to talk to you when we get home." I'm peeing myself, "I'm not ready!" kind of stuff, expecting it to be something ultra-serious, life-changing, epochal.
    It turned out he needed me to run an errand for him to the drugstore. Boy was I relieved!
    And the great-granddaughter/ grand-niece (depending on your point of view) is ultra-adorable. Her vocabulary is mainly "Bye!" and her taste in music runs mostly to Barney, but all this is endearing, too.
    PS: Dad blew out the candles on his cake and wished to live to be 100. This is also a good sign.