Body:

The Setup:

I was home and my Dad wasn't feeling great—full-on head cold, lots of sneezing, the whole deal. He was settled on the couch, watching TV, and sounded pretty miserable. I was walking by the living room when I heard his muffled voice call out.

The Miscommunication:

He said, very clearly (in hindsight), "Hey, can you grab me a tissue?"

Now, I'm not sure if it was the general fuzziness of his cold voice, my own distraction, or just a spectacular brain fart, but the word that registered in my mind was "toaster." Yes, the thing you make bread crispy in. I immediately thought, "Why on earth does he want a toaster? Is he going to make toast on the couch? That seems inconvenient, but okay, I'm the errand runner."

The Delivery:

I went to the kitchen, retrieved the actual, fully functional, slightly dusty toaster from the counter, and carried it back to the living room with the solemnity of a knight presenting a sacred artifact.

I walked up to the couch, placed the bulky toaster right on the coffee table next to his bottle of water, and said, "Here you go, Dad. I brought the toaster."

The Priceless Reaction:

My Dad stopped mid-cough, slowly looked at the toaster, then slowly looked at me. His reaction was pure confusion mixed with mild annoyance from being sick.

He paused for about five seconds, then burst out laughing, which immediately turned into a coughing fit (made worse by the lack of... a tissue).

When he recovered, he pointed at the kitchen appliance and wheezed, "A toaster? Son, I said a TISSUE! What in the fresh hell did you think I was going to do, make a bagel fort on the coffee table?"

I was mortified, but also started laughing hysterically when I realized the massive disconnect. I apologized, grabbed him the actual box of tissues, and we spent the next ten minutes making jokes about the many uses of a couch toaster.