Ah yes....THAT'S why I don't talk to you!

I got an email the other day from my bio-dad. Attached was a photograph of me as a child. He sent it to remind me of the good old days, when we were a loving, happy daddy-daughter-duo. It was bizarre though, because he sent a picture of one of the most traumatic moments in my early childhood! When I was about 4, he dressed me up as either Laural or Hardy (whichever is the fat one) because that's what he wanted me to be for Halloween. I wanted to be a princess, but he thought that making his small daughter dress up as an overweight drag king was MUCH funnier. To him, anyway. So, after allowing him (meaning I was too little to really put up a fight) to dress me in his clothes, stuff them with pillows and then smear mascara on my face for a mustache, I posed for this picture. About ten seconds later, I was on the floor- I can't remember if I fell over or if he pushed me- but I couldn't get back up because of all the pillows. I remember flailing and crying, trying desperately to get back up....kinda like Ralphie's little brother in A Christmas Story. He thought this was even funnier and stood their laughing and laughing as I cried and begged him to help me back up. And *this* is the one photo he chooses to send me in order to bring back those nostalgic childhood days. What an ass.

Here's the picture: