He Does Not Get It


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Sometimes I cannot convince even myself that I am related to my father (or that is who they tell me he is at least. I sometimes cannot fathom how someone can have four daughters, two wives and three sister and STILL NOT GET IT.

When I say "get it" I am not referring to "getting it on" that is another story entirely, and I will not even begin to describe some of the ribald jokes that occur at our dinner table with a increasing frequency. But, I digress.

So, I very kindly asked my father, well, it was closer to begging and pleading, to prehaps shorten the visit of the suitor who happens to be almost twice my age. He began coming up with lines he would say to him, but they all fell closely to the theme of "SARAH IS SCARED OF YOU" which is not the message I wanted to convey and I could do that quite nicely on my own.

All of the females present at the breakfast table were trying to help him understand how to nicely, nicely talk to this guy. I think all girls were either very mean to him or jumped at... Anyway. He was scarred for life.


1 Responses to “He Does Not Get It”

  1. Anonymous jd 

    dude i'm like 23. that's hardly twice your age.

    (obligatory wink)

    dad has a bit of problem with the whole subtlety concept, no? i would say give aforementioned suitor a stiletto in the groin, but it doesn't really sound like it would be all that painful for him. got testicles?

    wow, it's been a while since i've read this. still funny as hell.

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This odd narrative is my life. I ended up in Pittsburgh, of all places--from the beach. I have no hobbies, other than cooking excessively and eating microwave popcorn. I enjoy shopping, the Food network, hiding the remote so the Food network cannot be turned off, find ethnic food stores and restaurants and reading voraciously. My life is decidedly pedestrian.


I worked in the car business where I was required to be ruthless and soul-less wench, which is when I started this project. Since then, I've kept it up because secretly, I've always wanted to join the military. Every male in my mother's family has joined and I quietly entertain thoughts of joining. I haven't yet and don't know if I ever will, but sending the troops cookies keeps me sane. it makes me think I still have a shred of human kindness left in my withering soul. it's a small way for me to salute the men and women who are brave enough to fight for freedom. And makes me feel like I'm contributing toward troop morale--even if I'm not. So if you want to help, send me addresses of troops you know stationed overseas. you may also contribute toward the cost of chocolate chips, but don't feel obligated, that link is here only by request.


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