My Father's Daughter

A delayed Father's Day blog

My mom likes to tell me that as I get older I’m becoming more like my father. It doesn't take too long to realize she's on to something.

• We tend to have the same “because I said so” rationale for our actions and opinions
  
• Our palette for cheese and beer are strikingly similar (although contrary to prior stories, most likely told at a bar, my family is not in the cheese making business


• We both laugh hardest at our own jokes (leaving the rest of the room to grant the courtesy chuckle)


• If you don’t know the answer to a question, make it up


• We have the same temper and can sometimes get a little too frustrated and angry, yet ten minutes later have no clue what got either of us so upset


• One book is not enough. Sometimes I’ll be in the middle of reading three different novels, which is nothing compared to the stack my dad has been known to acquire


• The more I try to fight it, the cleaner I’m becoming. I haven’t gone a whole day since moving to NM without making my bed (gasp). Soon I’ll be vacuuming the curtains… oh wait, that’s my mom…


• Given the choice, we would both relocate the humane society to our back yards taking care of every stray cat and dog (see below)