A Phone Call from West L.A.

What month is it?

Dad:  I called up Scotty this morning and sang to him.  I think I woke him up.
Me:  Why did you sing to him?
Dad:  It's his birthday.
Me:  What?  No, it isn't. 
Dad.  It isn't?
Me:  His birthday's on the 17th. 
Dad:  Why didn't he tell me?
Me:  He probably wasn't awake. 
Dad:  What a sweet kid. He didn't want to make his old grandfather feel dumb.
Me:  So you sang to him, the whole routine?  Even "I'll take it from here boys?"
Dad: I went through the entire song.  It was one of my better performances.
Me:  How could I forget his birthday's next week? 
Dad:  I already sent the check, too.
Me:  Oh, Daddy. 

I hang up and go over to the calendar on the fridge.  Something's not right, but I can't figure out what.  I'm usually on top of things, b'day-wise.  I'm all about b'days, in fact.  Cake and candles and gifts.  The SJG goes all out.  So I stare and stare and then it hits me.  Aw... well, that explains it.  I call up my dad and laugh hysterically for several minutes.  It's just me laughing, and then he's laughing.  We're both laughing like crazy people. 

Me:  So guess what?
Dad:  What?
Me:  Scotty's birthday isn't next week.  It's next month.
Dad:  I sang the whole song.  Why didn't he tell me?
Me:  He probably wasn't awake.