Tuesday, February 5, 2008

My Dad Is Fired

Okay, before we continue with the Austin Extravaganza! (always with an exclamation point) we must fire my father.

Why? You ask.

As my mom and I were boarding the Houston/Austin flight, I was lifting my new pretty Tumi bag into the overhead compartment, and a cute-ish, too-young guy was all "Can I help you with that?" right as the bag slid into place. So I was all "thanks - I got it".

And as I am sitting down, my mom says "You need to work on being more...helpless", and as I turn to her in disbelief, she continues "Your father said my mission, this weekend, is to find you a husband."

Raise your hand if you are cringing, or wincing, or have done a spit-take with whatever it is you're drinking.

I know. Me too.

WHAAAAA? I had to clarify that mom was not making this up, and she went on to try to explain that my dad is "traditional", and I was wondering if "traditional" meant "mentally retarded", and she was trying to make it seem less totally offensive than it was, and mumbled something about him wanting me to find someone to "take care of" me.

Ironically enough, on my return flight from Houston/Seattle, I put my own bag into the overhead container AGAIN, and also, when the flight attendant offered a cheeseburger and salad for lunch, asked for JUST the cheeseburger. This confused him, as he tried to hand me JUST the salad, and I had to clarify: NO salad, JUST the cheeseburger.

Non-gay flight attendant looked very pleased, handed me the cheeseburger, and added "And I like a girl who can put her own bag up".

Helpless-schmelpless. I want someone who doesn't WANT a helpless girl.



(Ed. note: a thousand apologies for the photo, but this required a serious visual)