It’s official: my dad has begun reading my blog. This is exciting because the Daddy’s Girl in me wants nothing more than two thumbs up from the guy. This is also terrifying because I intend to continue discussing intimate details of my life, such as bowel movements, and I fear he may never want to be in the same room with me again. Meh. I’m rolling the dice.
In honor of mi papa jumping on the crazy bandwagon, I bestow upon you: A Story About My Dad. He will hate this. Too bad.
When I was maybe 8 or 9-years-old, I was coloring with a friend. It was summertime and we were fashioning some pretty amazing beach artwork. And that’s when inspiration hit. I closed my eyes and summoned the image. The bright colors. The palm trees. The crab. My hand moved faster than my brain and before I knew it, I had created an exact (elementary school) replica of my Dad’s favorite t-shirt:
I was *extremely* proud of my picture! I knew I wanted to give it to dear ol’ dad, so I wanted to write something special on it. And special it was. Across the top of the picture, in my very best Crayola handwriting…
Delighted, I raced down the stairs, straight to my father’s quarters, AKA: the couch. I proudly interrupted whatever television show would soon be forgotten after the unveiling of my masterpiece.
“Look daddy!”
I handed him the drawing and waited. And waited some more.
He made some guttural sound and then crinkled up the piece of paper that I had poured my heart and soul into. I died a little inside.
“Waaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!”
I ran up to my bedroom and threw myself onto the floor because that’s what drama queens do.
I then overheard my mom, “What is going on?!” My dad explained the picture; I vaguely recall the un-crinkling of the paper and then my mom again:
“Bahahahahahaha! Tom, she has no idea what this means!”
Murmurs. Whispers. Giggles.
That day, my parents had the distinct privilege of explaining pubic lice to their 4th grade daughter. They made me promise that I would always protect myself against such diseases, and I vowed that I would because I certainly valued my special girl parts. And I’ve made good on my promise; to this day, I practice the Public Hover: this crab-free behind never touches a public toilet seat.
I love my dad! And stories are the best and they like them even if they act like they don’t!
I hope you’re right and my dad appreciates his first feature post 🙂 🙂 Thank you for reading–I appreciate it!
That is priceless, you make me laugh so much!
*Waves to Dad*
M x
THANK YOU!!!! Hey, Dad, meet Mama G! 😉
sorry that i made you cry that day..ive loved you since the day you came to us
Awww Daddy, it’s okay 🙂 If it weren’t for that day, this post wouldn’t have been possible 🙂 🙂
Cracking up so hard right now! This one took my breath away a little bit!!! Great, great memory!!!
🙂 🙂
OMG YESSSSS!!! I love it!
HI Mr. Whencrazymeetsexhaustion!
When I was in the 4th grade, I found a dirty cartoon of my dad’s and took it to school. Janey Dutta narc’d on me and the principal called my mom and I had to clean toilets after school for a week. Years later, I saw the same cartoon on a t-shirt. Then YEARS later, i started writing this comment and totally forgot where I was going with it so I just stopped.
Bahahaha!!!! Love your memory–the one of the dirty cartoon and the one that’s slowly fading due to birthing small children. 😉
After that lesson, I bet you never looked at a public toilette the same again. I might not look at crabs, the ocean crustacean, the same again. I am thoroughly enjoying the OVERSHARING series. Please don’t stop! And to your dad, welcome! 🙂
I’m so glad to hear you’re enjoying it and not thinking about putting me on some blacklist 🙂 🙂
I think the funniest part is that I believed for the longest time that all public toilets would infect me. And I didn’t know the real cause for a long, long time 🙂
haha awesome, from the mouths of babes! Great post 🙂
Thank you!!!
Omg that is an embarrassing story and I love it. My worst nightmare is that my dad finds my blog. Of course, my blog is about him, so…
When I start “oversharing” sex stories with my dad as a reader—that’s my worst nightmare!
We’ll be here to support you when you do. And laugh. And share on Facebook and Twitter. Because we’re your fwiends 🙂
M x
Hehe! And I would expect nothing less!!!!! 🙂
Yeah, that is not ideal. Did you warn him to stay away from your archives?
This reminds me of a very awkward and embarrassing moment in my life as a youth when I knew not the true meaning of what I was saying: asking my dad “is that a banana in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” Where did I get that and WHY oh why did I say it to my DAD? I’m having heart palpitations thinking about it. Loving this series too!
Bahahahahaaha!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I wish I could’ve seen your dad’s face when you asked him that! And I kinda wish I could’ve seen your face as you typed this 😉