why it’s my father’s fault i’m in therapy.

17 Jun

In celebration of my dad’s second favorite day of the year, (you don’t have to share birthdays with other people) I’ve decided to point out a few of the many things that we have in common.

  • Looks: My dad and I are a handsome duo. Whenever people tell me how much I look like my dad, I am quick to point out that I am the more feminine and beautiful version. Oddly enough, people rarely agree with that. They merely reiterate that we are just soooo similar in appearance. Not a mention of the fact that we are an entirely different gender. I used to be really excited by this photo I had of him pretending to smoke a cigar when he was a kid because it looked Just. Like. Me. But now I’m just sad that my face continued to age just like his. Fortunately, I’m free of facial hair. Oh, 
  • Toes: They’re extra ugly. I’ve looked into plastic surgery and veneers, but it’s just not practical at this point in time. They’re called “The Bloom Toes.” That’s what my dad’s side of the family does. They take every awkward body part and trait that has been sent down the family tree and add the word “Bloom” to it. So I’ve got the following, all thanks to my Daddy-o: The Bloom Butt. The Bloom Stomach. The Bloom Voice. The Bloom Laugh. The Bloom Boobs. The Bloom Body. The Bloom Appetite. And most famously, The Bloom Arms. Maybe you have them too.. here’s a quick test to find out! While standing, let your arms hang down to your sides. Do your hands face behind you, sort of like a primate? Then CONGRATS! You’ve got the Bloom Arms!
  • Eating Habits: We’ve been known to fight over a hot dog. I prefer sweet treats to my dads salty, but we both like to indulge in pretty much whatever we can get our hands on. My dad used to eat off everyone’s plate at dinner when he finished his meal, but he quickly halted that behavior when it came to mine because I would throw a huge temper tantrum if he tried to touch my shit. I wasn’t big on leftovers back then. Not like these days. My dad’s diabetic and I switched from ice cream to frozen yogurt unless I’m pregnant. 
  • Music: We both think that I have excellent taste. Most of it is derived from the quality programming he provided over the years (Queen, Rod Stewart, The Judds, etc. etc. etc.) but boy can I make a mean playlist. See? 
  • Friends: We both seem to go by the thought processes that “less is more” and believe in “quality over quantity.” In other words, we both have pretty much no friends. We’re geeky loners who occasionally fool the customers into thinking that we’re cool. Our social status from high school on has been meager at best. We could be reasonable and blame it on the fact that we work alternative hours that prevent us from socializing with the bulk of the population and going to weddings/bbqs/birthday parties/dinner. Or we can face the facts and acknowledge that we rub most people the wrong way with our abrasive and highly eclectic personalities, as well as certain other undesirable quantities. Which leads me to….
  • Vanity: My dad and I are perfect. We are each limited to only two flaws: My dad is short and has an unhealthy attachment to Lifetime Television for Women. I am nearsighted and my C-Section scar won’t heal. That is all. We are otherwise awesome. We can literally both talk about ourselves for weeks on end, and we honestly don’t care who (or if anyone) is listening. You have already figured this out about me. But in case you were curious, it’s all my dad’s fault. Egomania is genetic. 
  • Spacial Acuteness: My father is extraordinary at packing the car with so many objects that you can literally fully furnish a large condominium. Some girls had things shipped to college their freshman year but not me. My dad shoved so much shit in that car that I couldn’t even have an extra snack before the trip up because he hadn’t planned for needing that extra square inch. Like him, I am also able to make things fit properly in places. Yesterday I managed to fit the surround sound system he picked out for himself for Father’s Day, my babygirl’s stroller, two cases of Poland Spring and a pineapple securely in the back of a compact car. Also, the other day when I was doing a craft project, I cut a circle that was EXACTLY the right size and I didn’t even use a ruler. 
  • Occasional inappropriate outbursts: Last night, my brother and his wife came for dinner at the restaurant with my dad, so we were all sitting around talking about random people. At a particular juncture, my dad, who had been unexpectedly quiet for at least like 45 seconds while Jen was discussing a friend of hers shouted out “AND THEN DID THEY HAVE SEX ALL NIGHT??” We still aren’t quite sure about where it came from but it bore a striking resemblance to a staff meeting the other night during which I blatantly outed an undercover couple at the restaurant with a totally hilaaarrioussss inappropriate and unnecessary joke. 
In all seriousness, I love my therapist so maybe saying that it’s my dad’s “fault” is incorrect terminology. I’m grateful that my dad provided me with the gaggle of issues I’m proud to call my own. Otherwise what would I do on Wednesdays? 
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