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Wednesday, May 16, 2007


*Evil Grin*


I think that, as a rule, parents should have to tell their children embarassing stories about their childhood and teen years. Simply because it makes them human, and by a weird, perverse twist of fate, cooler. I mean, after the childhood myth of parental infallibility wears off, they really don't have much else to work with.

This all came to me because of a story my dad told my sister and me over dinner. We were eating at this restaurant in the little town I grew up in before my mom got remarried and moved us. My dad was commenting on how the restaurant used to be a popular bar, which segued into the story of how he first met my mom. Dad was a bar-tender at a local bar that my mom often went to when she was 19. Apparently she'd had a bit too much to drink (not to mention the fact that she was underage), so my dad had to cut her off and she slapped him. Accorrding to her, that's not quite the whole story, but as she refuses to clarify it for me, I'll have to take Dad's word for it.

Of course, the very seeds for this idea of parental sharing were planted many moons ago when my uncle once spent several hours telling us hilarious stories about things my grandfather did while drunk (one includes losing a fight to a cat) that I'm sure my mother would rather have pretended never happened.

Some days you just gotta love your resident hicks. Especially if they're family ^_^

-Quotation of the Day-
"I mean, he had had like, 10 cookies and 2 cans of pop. He was all over the place and we were like, 'Dude, you need to lay off the cookies.'"
-My 10 year old sister- (Telling a story about a friend. They start so early these days ^_^)


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