How come you people never tell me to just shut up?
Why do I need to go to my dad for that service?
Because when I called him yesterday, all crestfallen and lame about moving to the suburbs, you know what he said? He said I was a Drama Queen. A Drama Queen!
You know what else?
He said I capitulate to something only after a certain amount of bellyaching, obsessing and worrying. That, I need, need to make a big deal out of things before I accept them. As if I require anticipatory anxiety to function.
He put it like:
“Deborah! Shut up!”
And when I said that I didn’t think The Rock and I were “suburbs people,” he told me that we definitely weren’t “beach people,” so something something something, and “get over yourself,” something something something.
Next time? I’d rather you all rip me a new one. My dad’s got enough on me already.