tobermory's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- beet red I just had possibly the most embarrassing conversation ever with my dad. This one harkened back to a previous conversation we had in a car in Wisconsin where he asked what the sea of plastic igloo thingys at the dairy farm were for. I answered, “veal,” and he said, “beal?” The set off a volley of VEAL! Followed by beal? finally culminating with me screaming, “BABY COWS – you know what you are going to EAT TONIGHT!” I love family dynamics. And proud older men who won’t get hearing aids no matter how much they need them. Anyway, my dad came by my desk (this is a cube – not an office – there are two other people who work near me) and said, “what does onanastic mean?” Ok, I know what it means, but I didn’t particularly want to say. I asked him if it was in his dictionary and he said, “no. I looked it up but it wasn’t there.” Apparently he was reading an article that mentioned something about the Franch president’s onanastic fantasies (side note – what could he have been reading?) Crap. So, quietly I said, “masturbatory.” He said, “what?” So, a little louder I said again, “masturbatory.” Again, “what?” So this time I made the crude hand gesture (you know what I mean) while I was saying, “masturbatory.” He looked confused and said, “mastur-ta-tory?” I gave up on all pretense of composure and said loudly, “masturbatory – as in to masturbate.” That one he got (and so did everyone in the immediate vicinity) although he seemed to doubt me so I googled onanism and found that the root is from the biblical Onan who spilled his seed on the ground rather than impregnate his dead brother’s wife. I am so embarrassed I want to crawl under a rock. Nobody should have to talk about masturbation with their 81 year old dad. Gah. Breakfast: frosted flakes. 3:56 p.m. - 2007-08-22 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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