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.”


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!”


There’s that bad daughter thing again.

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