Daddy’s little girl.

My dad came home last night after reading my post about how he scraped my car and very sweetly said, “Honey, I will scrape your car as long as you’re living here. I can’t do a lot for you, but I can do that.”

Aww.

That’s adorable.¬†I was feeling all warm and fuzzy until I realized how ridiculous a statement that actually was.

Because, yeah, he does nothing for me. Like keeping me on his insurance. Or letting me live in his house. Or letting me drive his cars through college. Or, like, giving me an education. Or the horse. Let’s not forget about the horse.

Clearly I need my car scraped too.

Then I just kind of felt like a bad daughter.

But it was so sweet that I won’t even tell you about how that warm fuzzy feeling evaporated (along with much of the moisture in my skin) when he very flippantly informed me that “Nah, we don’t need the heat on tonight. Last night was the cold night! It’s only going to be like 35 tonight!”

Oops.

There’s that bad daughter thing again.

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It’s not schizophrenia if the voices sound the same.

Scene: Bedroom, 7:30 AM Saturday

Get up. Seriously.

No.

We have lots to do today!

No.

Yes!

It’s the weekend. We finally have weekends. Remember what the weekend used to be like? With the crazy people and the standing at the info desk for eight hours and the crazy people and the endcaps and did I mention the crazy people? WE DON’T HAVE TO DO THAT ANYMORE. I’m going to celebrate by sleeping.

Yeah, well, instead we have tests to grade.

No.

You can have Starbucks.

N…wait. Starbucks?

Uh-huh.

Coffee? Or a latte?

Whatever you want, baby.

I need to check. You’ve gotten awfully thrifty since this whole “in-theory-an-actual-salary-but-not-really-enough-to-live-on” thing happened. Well, unless it comes to boots in which case you seem to be anticipating an inheritance coming or something.

You know what? You don’t need to hassle me about the boots. I LOVE boots and that’s really rich coming from the part of my psyche that decided a Blu-Ray player was ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY BECAUSE OMG WE’RE PAYING ALL THIS MONEY FOR NETFLIX…

You know what? Maybe we shouldn’t fight about money. That’s how most couples break up.

What about a pumpkin spice latte?

Honey, I’ll try to get you the barista if you get out of bed and shower.

Eh. I don’t think any of them would be interested. And I still don’t really want to go.

Um…shopping! We can go shopping afterwards! You love shopping.

Oooh! I do love shopping.

I know. AFTER we finish the exams.

Target? They have a Hanukkah¬†endcap with a table runner that I’m buying for our house.

O…okay. Sure. We’ll make sure to put it up for Easter. But you have to get out of bed and maybe work out a little bit before you can go buy that table runner.

Oka…wait! You’re going too far, missy.

You think the only thing we’re going to end up buying is the table runner? Uh, no. You’ve been eyeing that argyle sweater for weeks. You’ve been trying to figure out how much of your grocery budget can disappear in order to afford it…

What does that have to do with anything?

How do you expect to fit into it if you NEVER LISTEN TO ME about the working out???

I hate you. I wish I could fail you and write “Okay, but you didn’t really answer the question,” on your exam!

Whatever. Get in the shower.

You have no idea where I like it.

A girl I went to high school with likes it on the dining room table. My cousin likes it on her bedroom floor. My friend’s little sister who I guess isn’t so little anymore likes it on her chair.

Not that, pervert.

According to the five strongly worded messages I received over the last few days, I’m not supposed to write this post. Because the menfolk might read it and figure out what all those maddening statues mean.

Because God knows none of them have access to Google. Or answers.yahoo.com. Or, you know, a living breathing female who can explain it.

The tantalizing “it”?

Your purse.

I told you to get your mind out of the gutter.

And it’s all for breast cancer awareness! Which makes total sense! Yeah! Because…wait…what?

I’m all about breast cancer awareness. My life is kind of one big breast cancer awareness. I’ve never connected it to…well, either sex or my purse.

Last January there was the infamous bra color meme that everyone (including me) did. I don’t know…it was dumb, but at least it was kind of close (no pun intended) to breast cancer awareness. At least the same general anatomical area. And also not that tantalizing. I mean, honestly. I’m wearing a black sweater. Not rocket science, boys.

I’m not saying this is ridiculous or that anyone who has done it is silly or even that ANYTHING that makes people think about breast cancer isn’t a good thing (although if you could donate some money too, that’d be awesome!)…I just don’t get it.

I don’t understand what making you think about me having sex has to do with breast cancer.

So again, not passing judgment, I’m just wondering what next year will be…

(By the way, I was going to join in and do it…until I realized that my status would be “I like it on the washing machine.”)

(And…I’m friends with way too diverse a crowd for that.)