Father's Day

As those of you who know me or who are regular readers know, I have Daddy Issues. (And there's a story there too, but it's not fit for print, but HAWT!)

Today, as I was lounging about in bed on a Sunday, as I am wont to do, my phone rang. The caller ID said it was a call from my apartment complex front gate. OK, I figured, I'll answer it, because if nothing else, it's always fun to tell someone that I won't buzz him in.

But, oh, no. It was my father. "I'm here," he said, and I replied, "I'm not up yet, not ready for company." My heart was pounding out of my chest. "OK," he said, and I thought that was the end of it. Two minutes later, there was a knock on my door. I freaked for a second, then got up, found a robe, and answered the door. Of course it was him, and I stood in the doorway as he looked around my head, trying to scope out my apartment. Now, my place wasn't that tidy today - dust, a carpet that's begging for a vacuuming, other evidence of my occasional bad lifestyle choices sitting out - so I did my best to block him. I just didn't need a conversation on how I live today.

He asked for a hug, which I begrudgingly gave, and he handed me a few a bucks, and left.

It was weird, and it took about thirty minutes for my heart to calm down, and I REALLY REALLY need for this to not be a portent of things to come. Don't drop by my place without warning, ever. Especially if you're related to me.

(There's more I want to say, but since the things I write on the Interwebs are eternal, I'm going to have to give it a pass. If you want to know more, email me.)