My dad is paranoid that I will say something on this blog that will offend someone and he will thus be embarrassed for knowing me or something. I’m not really sure what the issue is, but the gist is that I will bring shame on him and his his household in some way by offending people. I think it might be too late for this concern. I have undoubtedly offended a lot of people. Mostly people who whisper during class or wear leggings as pants. I’m not sorry for this. They should know better, especially the whisperers.
Actually, though, I think my father is most concerned about me offending the good people at church. And every time someone from church tells me that they read my blog, my dad gets just a little more paranoid. This is hilarious to me because he is concerned that I will offend some of the lovely elderly men who accidentally whistle through their noses. (I would like to take this moment to say that, just because you whistle through your nose, it does not make you a bad person. A little self-awareness might be a good thing, but you’re still a good human being. Unless you’re a serial killer). But I can pretty much guarantee that the people from church who read this blog do not have nose whistles. And they’re not elderly men, either. I also highly doubt that anyone over the age of seventy-five is surfing the internet, looking for Sarcasm Soapbox (except for my nana, who is probably more hip and cool than I am, proven by the fact that I just used the word “hip”).
My father’s paranoia is also funny to me because he is most concerned about my offending strangers and not himself. He cares less about me bashing his string of horrible vehicles and his caring nickname Fire Chief Dad than he does about the nose whistlers. It is seriously a legitimate concern of his.
However, what is not funny to me, is that my dad doesn’t care at all that Julia also says some unkind things about Madonna’s lady parts. If I said that, he’d be afraid that Madonna would sue me. Or cry. I’m not sure which would be worse to him. It’s kind of like how he had to go to the holiday dance show this year, even though neither Julia or I were actually dancing in it, to see the pointe class that Julia teaches. At this point, I would like to point out that I have been working at that dance studio for three years now and he has never come to see my teen jazz class perform. If I didn’t already know that my brother was his favourite child, I would be deeply hurt by what seems to be obvious favouritism.