Although some of you have tracked me down and befriended me IRL, you magnificent bastards.
|And now this is in my search history.|
The things I do for you guys. Jesus.
Anyway, I've been looking at a tremendous number of old photos lately. I've been re-introduced to my really, really questionable hairstyle choices of the past (red-headed perm, hippie-grunge look, I'm-really-terrible-at-updo's look, etc.), as well as all the beautiful, wonderful stages of PDaughter's upbringing.
I don't know how my almost-ex-spouse and I managed to raise such an amazing kid, to be honest. It's enough to make you believe in miracles.
|Like this. (I love you, Drummer Boy.)|
This is me back in the swinging '60s.
|I was a damn hippie.|
|She almost always smiled in photos. I don't know|
what her problem was here.
Apparently, she's really mine.
Today, she is a beautiful, confident, happy teenager. I'm a middle-aged hot mess.
I'd be totally happy if she didn't continue to follow in my footsteps, you know?
Anyway, who do you take after? Mom, dad, someone else?
Let me know.