Bless His Heart

I must be feeling better, because my dad called to tell me a.) not to call him tomorrow after I get out of the doctor’s because he’ll be doing a funeral and b.) that whatever’s wrong with me is because I keep a messy house and, rather than getting pissed at him, I just had to laugh.

Bless his heart, he’s been trying my whole life to turn me into a neat-freak who will clean up after him and his sons and finally, finally, I think he thinks he’s got the cudgel… cudgle… argh, I wish spell check worked on this computer… anyway, he’s got the large stick with which to beat me now.

I am sick because I am dirty!

It’s like my dad reads feminist blogs and completely misses the point.

3 thoughts on “Bless His Heart

  1. *blinks*

    … because your house is messy?

    Hunh. Maybe he’s secretly related to my old landlady? Nah, ’cause that would make you secretly related to her, and that’s not a fate I’d wish on anybody.

    But seriously. That’s quite a lot of missing the point there.

  2. I could get stabbed in the eye while on vacation in Bermuda and, if he could find a way to bring it on back to me not having a clean house, you can bet he would.

  3. … rather than getting pissed at him, I just had to laugh.

    And that, my precious B, is gold-standard proof that you heard and absorbed the truly useful stuff he’s been preaching all these years. (The “honor thy father” and “turn the other cheek” parts.)

    You continue to be the person I want to grow up to be. If I *have* to grow up. I’m still having a hard time getting past the 12-year-old-in-the-Temple “what y’all all up in my bidness about?” stage.

    Praying that your doctor visit has come out peacefully and positively.


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