My Father

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My father is crazy. Beyond certifiable, I'd say. He's been known to talk out of his ass on more than one occasion. He'll say anything (as drastic as it may seem) in order to 1) get a reaction out of people, 2) make you feel like you're his bff, while 3) making you feel uber uncomfortable at the same time.

Case in point:

When he first met Ryan and found out he (Ryan) was German, he said, and I quote - this is verbatim, mind you (oh, and think of it with a slight indian accent) - and I quote: "German! I tell you what, I love that Hitler."

Yes, this is my father. And I love him. Cause he's my daddy and always will be.

(And for the record - he does not really love Hitler. He just thought Ryan wanted to hear that. Thank God he didn't!)

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OMG, that's too funny. (And it's only funny because it's not MY father. Greta used to say that crap about my grandparents being "funny" and it totally wasn't, because it was my reality.)

Anyway on a lesser "Dad, WTF" scale, here's my story du jour:

The 4 of us & M&D flew to New England for the wedding. For simplicity, Scott ordered all 6 return flight tix on our card. Dad said he'd repay us by charging the hotel to his card.

We get to New England. Dad's anxious to get us to put the room on our card. All 4 of us forgot The Deal. I remembered it about 10 min later. "Don't sweat it. I'll write you a check in FLA."

Today he asks, "How much do I owe you?"

"$220"

"Really?? Is this the e-receipt?"

"Yes."

When they left my house, I found a check for $218.80.

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This page contains a single entry by acb published on September 7, 2007 10:18 AM.

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