Recently, my parents came across this blog.
My journalistic freedom has shrunken to that of a Syrian rebel.
Not much is more awkward than when your parents find that you’ve been transcribing all of their conversations to the Internet, and it only gets worse when they read them. And it really gets worse when your mother sits down on the couch with you and starts watching your shows with you because she is afraid you don’t feel loved.
Dad refers to me as “The Funny Guy” now because I’m just so freaking funny on this blog.
So it will be a struggle to post things that won’t lead to a Nickelodeon After-School Special in my living room.
Hi Mom and Dad.
My grandmother is my grandmother. Lets establish that of course I love her.
But back in the day, she used to think I might have been dropped on my head.
It was the little things that tipped me off: she only wrote in print for the gift cards she sent me. My sisters got theirs in cursive. Apparently she thought I may not be able to read it…
I also got Graeters cards, and my sisters got Starbucks. Starbucks was too sophisticated for me…
Also, my Mom would report to me how I was never asked about in their conversations. Just my sisters…
But now, the tables have turned. I had to drive her to and from her house, and I guess by proving I’m capable of driving and not killing her, I’m now the favorite. She even told me when we made it back to her house, “I had my doubts about you”. Then she slapped me a fiver.
She wrote me a letter this week and left 10 bucks, JUST BECAUSE.
Grandma loves me.