Dad: What is this blogging?
Me: Blink. Sorry, what did you say?
Dad: Blog. Blogging. Is it like having a webpage?
Me: (Shitting bricks) It’s like having a diary online.
Dad: Oh. Like you used to have one. Remember? Before marriage?
Me: (shitshitshitFUCK) Hmm? Oh yeah. I probably made one cause I needed to do a story on it. You know, when I worked with D****.
Scenario in my mind:
Dad: Come S******, I’ll show you the Internet. This is Google. You can search for anything with this. Let’s look for our daughter, on whom we have spent many a tear.
Mom: We can find her here?
Dad: blink. Ahem.
Dad: [On the phone] Hello beta. Are you busy? Is this why we raised and educated you? So you could show the world your penises? Your mother is going to hang herself. I’ll call you later. Jamje hanh (Have lunch)
Please don’t make me the only one to remove traces of my name from the Internet because my Daddy can google. How am I going to continue making fun of my family online? Do you know hard it is to please these readers? I don’t have a superior analytic mind. Nor do I possess master story-spinning skills with twists and promise of hot lesbian sex.
These guys are wolves. They’ll tear me apart if I run out of humiliating material.
Please, please let me remain cool.