11-Oct-2005

This morning I rang up my folks, and they did what I'll generously title the "annoying phone shuffle."  This means that either a.) they will both pick up different phones and talk maddeningly over each other about who died, dated, or divorced or b.) if one of them doesn't want to talk to me, they'll attempt to hand me off to the other.  What they don't know is that I can still hear them.  "Is something wrong?"  "No, she's just calling to say hi."  "Oh, well, tell her I said hi."  "No, talk to her."  "Do I have to?"  You get the idea.  This morning when I called, here's what transpired:

Mom:  (to Dad) It's your daughter.

Dad:  Who?

Mom:  Very funny.

Dad picks up the phone.

Dad:  Karen?

Me:  Very funny. 

My dad love, love, loves to pretend he has several thousand illegitimate children scattered throughout the continental U.S.  He's been doing this since I was five, when, after my first sleepover, I called him to come pick me up.

Five Year Old Me:  Dad?

Dad:  I'm not your father.

Of course, I threw it back in his face several years later, when he told me I couldn't get my ears pierced.

Dad:  No.

Ten Year Old Me:  Why not?

Dad:  Because I'm your father, and I said so.

Ten Year Old Me:  How do you know you're my father?

That shut him up.  It was my mother who couldn't stop giggling.  But I'm pretty sure my smart-assery proves what a DNA test would:  I am my father's daughter, and it's nice to know that, no matter how far away I am or how lonely I'm feeling, my dad will still pretend there's some question about my parentage.  So thanks for that, Dad.  And you should be glad it wasn't Karen this morning - we both know she only calls when she needs dough for heroin and clean needles.  What a whore.