Today is Lizzie's twelfth birthday, everybody. Now she is what's called a "pre-teen". Whoop-dee-doo-dah. I told her yesterday that when she turns 13, my dad will automatically consider her a b-*-*-*-*. That's how it worked with me and Julie. Here's a little story explaining that:
Last summer (I'm pretty sure), our family went on a vacation in Florida. We stayed on our houseboat that we share in ownership with one of my dad's best friends. One night, my dad had some friends come on the boat (they drove out there on their boats), and they visited outside while Julie and I stayed inside playing cards. My dad came in and said that we could cut up some cheese for crackers if we wanted some. He went back outside, and Julie and I looked at each other; It was understood that none of us cared for some cheese and crackers, so we didn't cut up any cheese. Well, my dad came in a few minutes later looking for the cheese that apparently we were told to cut up for him and his friends. We explained that we didn't want any cheese, so we didn't cut up any. He told us that just because we didn't want any didn't mean that nobody else wanted any, so we were supposed to cut up the cheese for them. Julie and I were confused and told him that he had said that we could cut up some cheese if WE wanted some. He never said anything about anyone else. That was a mistake. Our father just called us teenage [insert plural form of b-word here]. Then he left, and we cried. That happened to be the same trip where Julie and I got into a fist-fight... Man, that was the best vacation I have EVER had!
That cheese story probably sounds extremely retarded, but Julie and I were scarred for life. We just couldn't believe that our father called us that for not cutting up cheese!! I mean, my gosh! *sigh* Good thing he's barely around...??