So yesterday my dad tells me he ran into June Cleaver (We’ll use the name of that character for the sake of the blog.) While he was getting a haircut. (Actually I can’t even remember the name of the person he told me. ) Which is some person he thinks I went to high school with. Who is that? Am I supposed to know? I’ve never heard of this person.

Why is that a bad thing? My high school had a student body of 1200 students. I’m not going to remember everybody who ever went there from 1998-2002. He said she was from the class of 2003. I didn’t know a lot of people from that year. Not to sound snobby or anything. He said she asked if I played sports or was in the band. Although I was friends with people in the school band.

He says she lives somewhere familiar. I’m like she lives at our old house? For some reason he got mad when I asked that question. Why? More than half the things he tells me make no sense. If you are going to tell me something vague and ambiguous don’t be surprised when I don’t understand.

Why do I have to know everybody? These are the kind of things that make me highly neurotic. Then I start questioning myself and thinking “Is there really something wrong with me?” He wants me to act like the people dispensing social skills advice on the Social Skills subreddit.

I’ve been thinking about when I was in high school recently but, for another reason. I was thinking about how mousy and artsy I used to be back then. I’m not as artsy as I used to be, but I’m still mousy possibly even more than I was back then. I think because of that it really bothers my dad. I used to think there was a problem with me. There most likely isn’t a problem with me. He just thinks there is. There is most likely a problem with him.

The worse part is for the rest of the day he kept bothering me and asking if I remembered June Cleaver.

My dad just trampled my self esteem sandcastle again ūüė¶ And just when it was starting to actually look like something nice. Thanks a lot dad!