Father’s Day was going so well… …

… … right up until I called my dad the wrong name.

Is it safe to say I’ll never be his favorite child?

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  1. Ahahahaha! Poor girl! What did you call him?

    Our conversation probably would have gone a little better if he hadn’t mentioned that he’d walked past Trashy Diva after the rehearsal dinner and was shocked at how Trashy it was. I’m wondering if he was startled by the lingerie store, the shoe store, or the dress store. He seemed to think he was talking about something Other than the lingerie store, though he didn’t seem offended by any of the clothes of shoes I wore All Week. Sigh.


  2. Don’t worry either of your pretty little heads about it, his favorite child his himself. No competition.

    At least you didn’t say Kiss the Lucky Bald Spot.


  3. Rach – I called him Duane. Cue laugh track.

    To be fair, he confused me; as we were hanging up, he said “Say hello to my new father for me,” and I was still puzzling that one out as I said “Bye, Duane! Uh, Dad!”

    If the store were called Demure Young Lady, maybe he’d have been impressed with how modest and tasteful the dresses were. Sigh, indeed.

    Mum – It’s so hard to kiss the lucky bald spot long-distance!


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