Lied to my folks (actually just Father) last/Thursday night; said I had to work late when all I really did was go to the Minnesota State High School Girls' Basketball Tournament.  To be specific, I went to the night session, two Games, one of which featured Paige Bueckers, considered to be this year's best high school basketball-playing girl in the country.  She's going to UConn.  This may be the only time I ever see a high schooler be the best at her sport, so I went and focused on looking at her the entire Game.  I did that one other time: Many years ago when the Clippers were in town, and Blake Griffin was the sensation.  He had only one thunderous dunk.  (Verdict on this Game: Bueckers is a slick passer and a savvy shooter, but young players these days are always pushing the tempo, and more than once she just threw a Hail Mary that was broken up, if not intercepted, by the opponent.  And still she and her team, Hopkins, beat said opponent, Stillwater, by 20+.)

I got home (after taking a pit stop at work to eat eggs which, stupid me, I left at the bottom step at the house as I was leaving) and Father was doing his ol' goddamn speaking-calmly-as-a-form-of-condescension.  He ordered me not to go to a restaurant (wanking motion).  And he wondered if I had to go to work.  (I remember him telling me I needed to find a job.)  Told him that although the worldwide economic recession crashing into us the past couple weeks might cut off work, my company is trying to develop a coronavirus test, so maybe there will be work.

This is all so that I can sneak out and see a concert Saturday night.  Fuck it, I'll just say that Overtime's available.  Just hope I don't get caught, uh, catching the coronavirus.  Afraid I caught that at the Game, too.

Oh, this turned into a blog post about trashing My Fucking Father.