My dad refuses to come to my website. I shouldn’t be all that surprised. He had to hang up the phone after he called to tell me that my health insurance statement had been sent to him and I warned him that he would find birth control on it. We didn’t talk for weeks after that. Later, he googled me, only to find a first-person piece I’d written on colonic irrigation. I guess the “my ass had finally lost its virginity” line really got to him.
Tonight, he called to tell me he’d seen that I’d made the July 8 New York Times. He had searched that site for my name, assuming it was safe and that he’d not find anything he didn’t want to. I told him to visit the press section of CasseroleCrazy to see more, and that there was only “one thing” that might bother him, “but I’d be happy to warn–”
“No, I won’t go to your website.”
“But it’s just–”
“No, Emily. Drop the subject.”
“But I can warn you wha–”
“Emily, drop the subject now. I’m not going to your website.”
“This is ridiculous, it’s not even-”
“DROP the subject, Emily.”
Alright. How ’bout them Chiefs?
