Oatmeal and chubby fingers

Dad has learned about oats. He's mastered breakfast. He's sitting in mom's light pink swivel rocking chair with his V8. He's talking about the different types of oats. I like listening to him, but I don't really think his knowledge of rolled oats is very interesting to our faithful readers, so I'm mostly just watching and typing. Typing isn't very easy. I'm working from Jen's very small LENOVO computer (it's awesome to have but challenging to use for fat over-thirty bad hockey players with chubby fingers). Where was I? Dad's rambling about his stellar medication delivery method, his ability to vaccum the house and cooking. "Not bad for an unsophisticated sophisticate," dad says. "I have no idea what that means," Mom says. "Damned if I know, but it sounds good," dad retorts. They both laugh and agree that sounds like Dad's motto. "Better than the Barney principal!" I think loudly in my head. I won't say it out loud though. Don't want to disagree with Mom's take.