Thanks, Dad.

[eredien]

My dad was telling me about a letter he wrote to his customers, telling them why he wouldn't be around that weekend.

You've got to feel really important, interrupting the storage business schedule like that [for your graduation]!

He thought this was funny. Can you see why I don't have a normal person's sense of humor, and why I can't tell when people are making a joke?

The really sad thing is that I really did feel important for disrupting the schedule, until he mentioned it, and then I just felt made fun of in a "I know he didn't mean to hurt me" way, and trod upon.

Thanks, Dad. I don't know what to say.

Comments

A bit late, I know, but....

[shrewreader.livejournal.com]

When I got My Letter, back in the fall of 199Mumble, I came home, half terrified, because I had gotten four notes from the school secretary saying 'go home at ONCE.'

I came home. My mother came barrelling down the stairs. Waving -MY LETTER- in her hands. "You got in! You got in! YOU GOT IN!!!!!"

Okay. Initial miserable reaction halted (my parents are emotion-deaf the way some people are tone-deaf), I smiled, called my dad and said, "I got into Bryn Mawr."

"Yeah," he said, "I know."

My reaction was much the same as yours.

Bad news: it doesn't get much better with time.

Neutral news: you've got every damn -right- to be bitter.

Good news: Since you're granulating, you're over age. Go into the City, ask Nightensgalknd for the location of a liquor store, get a bottle, have a drink (or 3), smash the rest of it in the fountain in the cloisters. You'll feel better. For the moment. Promise.

And in May you shall Be Done. And you will go...?

--Shrewkate