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Sunday, 15 June 2014

A infected post for Father's Day

I'm writing this with a stuffed up nose and angry left ear and I just realized something:
It's father's day
And what better way to celebrate Father's day than to have your daughter suddenly catch some kind of hybrid-ear-infection-slash-cold-slash-sudden-loss-of-voice thing. I know I may not always be the best daughter, and I bet I have many years ahead of me filled with disappointing moments, such as this one once you realize you didn't raise an optimist. Anyways, I'd like to dedicate this blog post to you, as I sit sulking in my bed like a crybaby. I guess that's the best part of being a father, right? Finding out who your kids are, and what they are really bad at, and what they're really good at. As you can probably already tell, I am not the best person at giving gifts. For the first ten years or more of my life I spent giving you boxers as a gift. Not even a real live boxer. One that you can ride courageously into the sunset like a boss. No, I gave you an item of clothing to cover your rear. Every. Year. For that, I have to thank you the most. It takes a man of great strength to accept spongebob trousers and smile at the same time. But being completely serious, dad, I want to thank you for shaping me to the person I am today. A sardonic blogger. No, what I meant to say was, I want to thank you for teaching me the lessons of life and guiding me to be the person I want to be. I repeat, a sardonic blogger. Seriously, though, for what it's worth, I love you. (Like, a lot. So, it's kind of a big deal)

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