Oooooookay, why is that, GolfDad? Well, it's because when his arthritic knees were achy and bothersome this afternoon he took some acetaminophen. He's grouchy about the acetaminophen; he says it doesn't work for crap, but given that he's having hip replacement surgery on Monday, ibuprofen is currently banned (and will be for six more weeks while he's on blood thinnners - oh, joy). The crappy acetaminophen doesn't work for crap, so he takes some more. Hmmmmmmmm, he's feeling kinda strange.
BigBrother1 calls right about then, and informs GolfDad that he "sounds like he just drank a pint of whiskey." GolfDad says "Nuh uh" and then looks at the bottle of acetaminophen. OOOOOOOOOOOPS, he just took an overdose of the NIGHTTIME acetaminophen! Hence, the feeling way groggy and sounding slurry. BigBrother1 insisted that GolfDad needed to call me so I could come over and check on him.
Which, of course I did after stopping at Maverik to fortify myself with a giant a giant dietCoke - elder-tending requires such measures. Mrs. Igor has the phone number for the state's poison control programmed into her phone, which she gave to to me when we passed in the driveway.
Arriving at GolfDad's he was cooking his dinner and seemed basically alert. He showed me the bottle (pictured above), and indeed - it's the bright blue pills indicating PM formula. I called poison control, and after a few questions, they assured me that aside from the grogginess, GolfDad would be fine. They will even call back later tonight to make sure all is well.
So here I am, keeping company with the over-doser for the next little while, just in case. No prob, we're talking real estate and stock market and what's available on streaming Netflix, and I'm glad to do it!
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