When in doubt, don't say anything. Which is what I told my father the day after the vagina monologue aired in my parents house. (See below blog post for further explanation.)
I wasn't able to choke on the feathers in my duvet so I eventually went down stairs and faced my Dad. At first, I just stuck to speaking to my mom. My dad, feeling left out looks at me out of no where and says "I used to wipe your bum." For some reason he had to get yesterday's episode off his chest.
"C'mon. Fuck. Dad, " I yelled. "Is it necessary to bring this up? Jesus." I could feel my face turning as purple as his as my mom stood chopping onions and scream laughing in the kitchen.
Why say anything? Really? I understand that verbal diarreah runs in the family but it's kind of an event that you don't speak of. For instance, it's like the first time you have sex with someone and talk dirty and the other person looks at you and says "what?" You just don't bring it up. Ever. It's like it didn't happen.
Anyway, felt as though I needed to follow up and let you know that I survived.
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