Uh oh
I'm sitting at home right now on my last night before going back to school. We've just spent the day decorating the house for Christmas. We put up the lights outside and hung ornaments on the tree inside. We're listening to Manheim steamrollers, eating leftovers from Thursday and just enjoying the Christmas spirit and one another's company. I've just come into my room to avoid cleanup duty, and my sister's vacuuming up the pine needles that've fallen off the tree, when I hear my father say, "Like your tattoo. Where'd you get it?"
--Now, this is where you'll need the lowdown. My sister got a tattoo on whatever that area between the bottom of your back and the top of your a-s-s is called. She got it about a month ago, without either of our parent's permission. In fact, as I understand it she actually spoke with them about it on several occasions seeking their blessing, which they refused. What's more they explicitly told her not to get one.
So, naturally, she got one.
Apparently of a heart. I remember seeing a picture of it on Facebook, but I don't approve of that sort of thing, and also I don't think I really much cared--I'm a pretty cool big brother when it comes to things like that--so I didn't look too closely. Anyway, I'm now told it's a little heart, so nothing risqué, but a tattoo nonetheless. Well, she told Mom about it after she had it done (which was about a month ago). Mom was displeased, but not entirely surprised, and she allegedly told Beth to tell Dad. Well, whatever the case, as you might imagine over the course of the past month, nobody found time to tell him. Okay, now that you're caught up, let's continue--
Now Dad's not really being serious. In fact, he thinks he's being funny, because he doesn't yet realize it's real.
Bethany's reply: inaudible
Dad (still kidding, mind you): Is it real or fake?
Bethany's reply: still inaudible
(Uh oh, I think now he's starting to suspect)
Dad: Is it real or fake?
Bethany's got a few options here. She could lie and say it's fake, and Dad'd probably go for it. Only problem is, if he ever, and I mean ever, sees it again, she's in even bigger trouble than if she fesses up to it right now. Which is her second option: fess up to it right now. It appears that option three--that is, mumbling--due to its previous ineffectiveness, is no longer viable.
And so, she goes with option two.
Things can really only get worse from here. The usual litany of parental questions following the discovery of a tattoo follow: when did you get it, why did you get it, did you tell your mom about this (to which Bethany answers "yes") Oof, not a good move for Mom, who, in the kitchen, counters, "You didn't tell me until after you'd done it." Good recovery, but Dad still knows she knew about it for a month and didn't tell him. This, to my dad, can only mean what he fears most: the girls are in cahoots--look out, Dad is now in "My family doesn't love or respect me" mode. This isn't good. In an effort to diffuse the situation I yell from my room, "I gave her permission to get it!"
Unfortunately, no one laughs. The situation is not diffused. My father will most likely interpret my comment as indicating that I, too, am in cahoots. I now regret my decision to speak at all.
Well, so much for a fun last night before I go back to school. Luckily, though, my dad wants to order pizza, which means he’ll ask me to have some with him, and there’s nothing over which my father better bonds than food.
So, that’s that.
I only hope he finds out about her belly button piercing while I’m away from home.
Until next time, my loyal readers.
--Now, this is where you'll need the lowdown. My sister got a tattoo on whatever that area between the bottom of your back and the top of your a-s-s is called. She got it about a month ago, without either of our parent's permission. In fact, as I understand it she actually spoke with them about it on several occasions seeking their blessing, which they refused. What's more they explicitly told her not to get one.
So, naturally, she got one.
Apparently of a heart. I remember seeing a picture of it on Facebook, but I don't approve of that sort of thing, and also I don't think I really much cared--I'm a pretty cool big brother when it comes to things like that--so I didn't look too closely. Anyway, I'm now told it's a little heart, so nothing risqué, but a tattoo nonetheless. Well, she told Mom about it after she had it done (which was about a month ago). Mom was displeased, but not entirely surprised, and she allegedly told Beth to tell Dad. Well, whatever the case, as you might imagine over the course of the past month, nobody found time to tell him. Okay, now that you're caught up, let's continue--
Now Dad's not really being serious. In fact, he thinks he's being funny, because he doesn't yet realize it's real.
Bethany's reply: inaudible
Dad (still kidding, mind you): Is it real or fake?
Bethany's reply: still inaudible
(Uh oh, I think now he's starting to suspect)
Dad: Is it real or fake?
Bethany's got a few options here. She could lie and say it's fake, and Dad'd probably go for it. Only problem is, if he ever, and I mean ever, sees it again, she's in even bigger trouble than if she fesses up to it right now. Which is her second option: fess up to it right now. It appears that option three--that is, mumbling--due to its previous ineffectiveness, is no longer viable.
And so, she goes with option two.
Things can really only get worse from here. The usual litany of parental questions following the discovery of a tattoo follow: when did you get it, why did you get it, did you tell your mom about this (to which Bethany answers "yes") Oof, not a good move for Mom, who, in the kitchen, counters, "You didn't tell me until after you'd done it." Good recovery, but Dad still knows she knew about it for a month and didn't tell him. This, to my dad, can only mean what he fears most: the girls are in cahoots--look out, Dad is now in "My family doesn't love or respect me" mode. This isn't good. In an effort to diffuse the situation I yell from my room, "I gave her permission to get it!"
Unfortunately, no one laughs. The situation is not diffused. My father will most likely interpret my comment as indicating that I, too, am in cahoots. I now regret my decision to speak at all.
Well, so much for a fun last night before I go back to school. Luckily, though, my dad wants to order pizza, which means he’ll ask me to have some with him, and there’s nothing over which my father better bonds than food.
So, that’s that.
I only hope he finds out about her belly button piercing while I’m away from home.
Until next time, my loyal readers.