This blog is not for the light-hearted or easily offended. If either one of those descriptions applies to you, i would suggest you start drinking before you read this blog. A sense of humor is suggested. If you don't have one that sucks for you … find one and get a life!

Go ahead, amuse me MommyWantsVodka

When I first decided to have a guest column on Thursdays called “go ahead, amuse me” I KNEW that I wanted to have Becky of MommyWantsVodka write me a post.  Thank god i didn’t have to beg her to be a guest as she was more than happy to oblige.  For those who don’t know Becky, “WHAT THE FUCK?” and for those who do, good for you.  I would tell you about her but she has her own “about me” section on her blog to read it THERE!!!  For more fun, go check out her entire blog. So, without further ado, here she is:

“When “He’s My Father” makes Everyone Feel Awkward”

My family is big on traditions. Probably not the same ones that your family practices because, well, unless they make Shwetty Balls* for Christmas, it’s likely that ours may be unique to our twisted family. One of the more innocuous ones happens to be the Chicago Auto Show, which comes to town every February like clockwork, and like a well oiled machine, some members of my family always go.

It’s mandatory for some, optional for others.

Members of my family have braved blizzards, ice storms and power outages to make it out for the auto show. It’s just thatimportant. I’m surprised that Mr. (Dr.?) Darwin doesn’t have something to say about that, but let’s just leave it at stupidity clearly being genetic a genetic trait and move on.

As for me, like my parents anniversary, which has always ended in disaster one way or another, I tend to keep it OFF my calendar because Something always comes up. That Something changes year to year, but it’s safe to say that I’ll probably never get to go again. And not, like you may imagine, because I want to avoid it.

I do happen to have a vagina and I do happen to like both power tools and cars, and the auto show is always a blast. But many years ago now when I was 16 or 17–before I was cursed–I went with my father and my uncle out to McCormick place and oogled cars at the Auto Show.

Nothing like looking at cars can make a person work up an appetite, so afterwards, we traditionally go to China Town for lunch/dinner (linner?). It’s been awhile since I’ve gone but I’d bet you that there’s a traditional restaurant they eat at every year as well.

The year I’m talking about, though, it was just my uncle, my father and I that went. My brother was off being Continental and/or Worldly and I was just pumped to be able to take a day off from high school where I didn’t have to have one of my friends call me in. And going to China Town had a specific mission for me: I wanted a Kimono top.

(don’t judge)

(stop judging)

(seriously, knock that judgey shit OFF, I was COOL)

(shut UP)

My uncle had begged off, perhaps to go meet up with one of his motor head buddies–he’s an AVID Corvette Guy, which should mean something if you know any other Corvette People–so it was just my dad and I together in the store.

My father, I must explain, is one of the most modest people about the human body that I’ve ever met. I was an OOPS baby, I have an MUCH older brother, and I’d be willing to bet that my father had never imagined having a daughter, much less have to deal with her when she grew boobs.

As a teenager, whenever I’d pop back downstairs on the way back to bed in an oversized shirt (nothing, I should add was hanging out), he’d scream, “ACK, PUT SOME CLOTHES ON, REBECCA!” Then he would cover his eyes dramatically and refuse to open them again until I went upstairs.

And they say drama doesn’t run in families. (don’t they?)

He’d carry on whenever I was nursing one of the babies like I was flagrantly prancing about the room in pasties and a g-string trying to give my relatives a lap dance, and it’s grown to be sort of a joke.

But the fact that I had boobies now made him uncomfortable, and while I certainly didn’t really worry about my dad seeing me in my bra since he had, at one point–although, I should mention, not for many years–changed my poopy drawers, I respected that.

So he stood very uncomfortably at the front of the woman’s clothing boutique in China Town while the owner, a very nice lady, was trying to fit my decidedly Western shaped frame (which, doesn’t Western-shaped give you the mental picture of a cowboy boot or the state of Texas? Because it does me) into a Kimono top. I probably tried on 10 or 15 until I found one that didn’t make me look stupid.

(shut UP)

I told her I’d take it, the beautiful dark blue silk shirt with those crazy-cool clasps at the neck, and she took it up front to the register to ring it up. I finished piling my layers of winter clothes back on and carefully made my way back to the front of the store. I had to contort myself into all kinds of odd angles to get past the wall-to-wall racks of clothes, but finally there I was, at the front of the store.

My dad looked relieved and somewhat red-eyed from the incense that was filling the room with sweet smelling acrid smoke and he whipped out his wallet and handed me some bills.

I went up to the register, where the lady had packed my new shirt into a plastic bag adorned with the store’s logo on it and looked at my total. As I was combining bills to pay her, she leaned forward, conspiratorially about to tell me something. Wondering if she was going to mention that she had an excellent supply of either opium or switchblades, I leaned it too.

“So,” she began, quietly but excited. “Is that your boyfriend?” Hand to God, she gave me a wink as she said boyfriend. She said it with unabashed glee, like a gossipy girlfriend who is about to tell you HOW FUCKING LUCKY YOU ARE to be dating the quarterback, because, like, he’s SO hot.

My mouth flopped open like a carp and I gaped openly at her. My BOYFRIEND?

“No,” I caught my tongue. “He’s NOT my boyfriend. He’s my father.”

She stared at me, I stared back and quickly paid. I guess there’s nothing like finding out that someone thinks that you’re

a) 20 years older than you are

b) that your father is 20 years younger than he was

3) People my age could actually manage to date guys my dad’s age.

I’m pretty sure when I loudly told him this as we left the store, that the remaining half of his hair just went made a FUUUMP sound and all popped out of their follicles in one big bang. Had I been in the process of balding myself, I have a feeling my follicles would have let ‘em go too.

What I didn’t tell the shopkeeper was if I’d genuinely had a sugar daddy, I’d have insisted he take me to the Prada store, not some cheap shop in China Town. But that seemed kind of awkward and rude.

Unlike, of course, telling her that he was my father.

Now YOUR turn, Internet, come sit next to Aunt Becky here on the couch *pats seat.* I am on the edge of my proverbial seat here, itching to know what you are going to come up with.

Well, I’m not technically ITCHING but, you know.

*beats “no cowbell” for best SNL skit by a mile

Go ahead, amuse me is a weekly posting I will be having featuring another funny blogger.  Or maybe not a blogger … you could just be a funny person.  So, if you would like to be featured all you have to do is email me at and send me a funny post.  If I AGREE that it’s funny, I’ll simply put up your post with a short intro that you write so that my readers will check out your blog.  Of course, you also need to put up a link to my blog saying that you’re being featured over here.


See? WIN-WIN … hope to hear from you … or not!

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  1. Rebecca
    December 1, 2011

    *kicks rocks bashfully* My husband is actually older than my parents… I wouldn’t recommend it to everyone but we didn’t “mean” to fall for each other, it just kind of … happened.

  2. Julie
    December 1, 2011

    I agree that shwetty balls are oustanding, the world does need more cowbell and please never forget that Mary Katherine Gallager is a Superstar!

  3. Annie
    December 1, 2011

    Very funny post! I could visualize the whole thing!

  4. By Word of Mouth Musings
    December 1, 2011

    Knew you couldn’t write a post without mentioning power tools …
    My Father is only twenty years older than me, and when my girlfriend and I were about 21, she was dating a guy the same age but with less hair than my Dad … it used to make me want to throw up a little …
    but I do have a story where someone thought my Dad was my husband just last year … sadly in Boca I was too old to be considered a trophy wife ;)
    By Word of Mouth Musings recently posted..Botticelli Knew His BabesMy Profile

  5. Pamela D Hart
    December 1, 2011

    Your dad sure was a good sport to stand and wait, in a “smelly” store, while you tried on numerous Kimonos!

    Too bad you couldn’t have been awkward and rude with a retort like, He’s my MANfriend this week or Sugar Daddies sure are yummy. It would’ve given that sales clerk something to talk about for a year! ;-)
    Pamela D Hart recently posted..Mosh Pit MomMy Profile

  6. Icepacklady
    December 1, 2011

    Fun story! I was mistaken as my father’s girlfriend a few times since my parents were divorced. I could totally visualize your whole story too like Annie said.

  7. - Mommy Wants Vodka
    December 1, 2011

    […] And a repost of an old favorite: When “He’s My Dad” Makes Everyone Feel Awkward […]

  8. Val
    December 1, 2011

    My husband (who is 6 years older than me) and I had to do something with one of our accounts at the bank on a day off. I had no makeup on and looked a hot mess. The massive idiot we were dealing with thought I was my husband’s mother, she thought he was a teenager! I thought I was going to get violent… I was only 26 at the time. I know he has a baby face and all but SERIOUSLY!?!?

    I’m not supposed to feel old yet dammit…lol.

  9. Candice
    December 1, 2011

    There was the time that a sales woman at a cell phone store mistook my then boyfriend for my father. I suppose it was because we were going on the “family” talk plan, that and the ten years he had on me. At the time I felt horrible for him. Now . . . I have to be honest . . . it kinda makes me gloat.

  10. Mayor Gia
    December 1, 2011

    Yeahhh…Boyfriend is only a few years younger than my parents. It’s gross, I admit. But he’s super awesome so that makes it okay.

  11. Becca
    December 2, 2011

    Thi sin’t a father/Boyfriend story, but a brother/boyfriend one. My older brother(By 2 years!!) and I were shopping for something to hang up in his dorm room a few months ago(he was going off to Le Institute of Higher Learnin’) and as we were ringing up, the cashier started talking to us about how it was her sons birthday and she was pregnant with him at 16 and things like that. Then she looks me straight in the eye and goes “You seem like you’re going places, make sure he doesn’t get you pregnant.” We just kind of stood there and she turns to him and says: “No, really. Don’t get her pregnant.” He replies with: “Uhh..I wasn’t planning on it.” She just continues ringing us up like nothing happened. Most awkward thing ever.

  12. Mama Bex
    December 2, 2011

    When I was in high school, my stepfather took me to see STOMP! in Birmingham (seriously, if you’ve never seen them, they’re amazing). When he bought the tickets, the man said, “You and your wife enjoy the show.” Do wha- huh?? I was only like fifteen or sixteen, and he was nearing fifty. I laugh about it now, but I was seriously grossed out as a teen. haha

  13. CerahSee
    December 2, 2011

    My friend Beth looks seriously younger than she is. Her husband is much older than her, and one night when they were at Wal-Mart she was being silly and her husband was being tolerant of her behavior. The cashier looked at her and said “Your dad is so nice.”

    She just grinned and said, “I know!”

  14. Talon
    December 5, 2011

    Oy. Either shortly before or shortly after we were married (anything pre-1997 is iffy. I can JUST manage to remember we got married in 1995) my husband and I were visiting his mother in Flordia. We were at a video store, looking for movies to rent. I should mention that my husband is 9 years and 9 months older than I am, but doesn’t look it. I apparently have never looked OR acted my age (take that however you will) and his mother was young when she had him. Still, there was no reason for the store clerk to comment to my husband about his “daughter” and “wife’.


    I retained enough presence of mind to suggest we go home and play Instant Incest, but it still blows me away that my (at the time) 30 something husband and his 50 something mother and my 20 something self…nope. Still blows my brain.

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