A few weeks ago, after my sister Tina's professor posted a comment on the site, I had a few reactions.
1. Take that, New York Review of Blogs. Someone with higher education DOES read my site.
2. It was sweet of Tina to tell her professor about the blog. I certainly wouldn't have told any of my professors about it.
3. How can I use this contact with Tina's professional life to embarrass her?
I went for the classic: a public offer to share embarrassing stories about Tina with him. I was going to do something special, like borrow her baby album and make posters of some of the pictures, but the daily routines of life has a way of dulling the energy we invest in our dreams.
A few days later, he responded: "I'd LOVE to hear some embarrassing stories about Tina." I called her up.
ME: "Guess who I got an email from?"
TINA: "Who?"
ME: "Barry Mar-gill..mar-gul...um, mar--?"
TINA: "My professor!"
ME: "Yup. He took me up on my offer to hear embarrassing stories about you."
TINA: "Yeah..."
ME: "Remember that time when you went to the bathroom, and you pooped so much that you clogged the toilet and had to get a plunger to fix it?"
TINA: "That wasn't me, that was [REDACTED]."
ME: "Not any more."
I never did tell any stories about her though. Not out of lack of motivation. I couldn't remember anything embarrassing that she did. All my childhood memories are of locking me in the basement and punching me.
Huh. I guessed the punching worked.
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4 comments:
Hey,
It was two people who clogged the toilet (both who needed the metal hanger to free it). Both of who where males. One of which who has visited us again and again and we always have a bottle of perfume nearby :)
oh..you where only locked in the basement once. Although, I do remember you and michele stuffing me in the cabinet and not letting me out....on multiple occasions.
shouldn't you be working on that freelance project, the reason why I had to leave school early today so I can pick mom up at the airport instead of you picking her up. Did I just get duped.
What? Stuffed you in the cabinet? Oh, that's such BS. I think someone is conjuring false memories to mitigate her guilt FOR LOCKING ME IN THE BASEMENT AND THEN LEAVING THE HOUSE. PLUS THE TIMES YOU SHOVED ME IN THE PANTRY.
And you can't even fit in a cabinet. How tall did you think you were as a kid, six inches?
By cabinet I meant pantry. Why are you not working on your freelance project?
(do you want me to bring up what you use to do to the stuff bears)
1. I'm multitasking.
2. Michele was the main culprit with the bears. I was just the assistant.
3. Looking back, don't you think it was funny?
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