Last night out of nowhere My Fucking Father yells at me that (and I couldn't completely understand him) that he's going to replace my shoes. I think he means my slippers, the bottoms and sides of which are starting to tear apart. It's gotten so bad that when I put my right foot on the ground I can sense the hanging piece of the sole from the heel touch the floor before the rest of my foot does. That's annoying, but I thought I'd just let it fall off and I can continue on my way. As usual, however, that isn't good enough for My Fucking Father, who basically told me to change it now.
But then he had to launch yet into another bizarre rant about me. Again, I couldn't quite comprehend, but he was going on about my shoes and then he said something to the effect of, "You're 40 years old now; why am I changing your shoes?" Yeah, why are you changing my shoes? Why do you even give a flying fuck about my shoes? Why don't you save yourself some angst and stop caring about how I walk around in my shoes and start caring about only your shoes? In other words, why don't you mind your own goddamn business?
I wanted to be civil with him, but he once again decided to act like a child. Therefore, I don't think I'll be eating at home the next couple of days.
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