Chick-diary post follows. Fair warning…
I offended my Pops tonight. I didn’t intend to, I just — well, I guess I just spoke the truth as I see it without tempering it, something I don’t very often with Pops. I speak the truth with him, but I choose my language carefully. He demands it. Diplomacy is a skill he admires and I can’t tell you how many times growing up I was told that I needed to learn some tact. He is definitely displeased with any deviation from civilized discussion of difficult topics. Seriously, It’s a challenge. Aaaanyway…
We were talking about my frustration with some women-folk I’m having to deal with and how their behavior is downright baffling to me because I don’t see the benefit of their machinations to anyone — including the individual trying to rule the world, as it were. (As an aside, I definitely don’t see how you can date these ladies, guys. The manipulation is…wow…I mean, I feel both dirty and depressed after negotiating it. And after the attempt at rational discussion and the ensuing crazy that occurs, I want to punch something or go for a mile swim. Is that what you go through regularly? Because damn…)
So, at some point in the discussion I asked Pops if he thought a man who has some interest in this lady’s behavior could see what I see.
“How could he not?,” said Pops
“Well I mean you guys are such dumbasses about women from what I’ve seen pretty much my whole life that I can never tell what you know or what you don’t…”
“Thanks for the compliment, kid.”
Damn. I’m a bad daughter. (But I do kind of feel that way. A lot. And I hate that it came out of my mouth. I mean, I get it guys…sometimes it pays to look the other way. But as one of the girls who was the little sister, or the girlfriend, or the friend, let me just say KNOCK IT OFF. If she’s a raging, mean-spirited harpy it’s just a matter of time before she turns it on you. Jeeza pete. How do you not know this?)
One other thing: character counts in sports, too. Bryce Harper, you are a cute kid, and you can swing a bat, and your streak is hot. But, like Nuke LaLoosh, you’re letting mold grow on your shower shoes a little early, my friend.
A’ight. Listen to this cool song. I’ve got choreography in my head.