- A Question of Trust
- Intro: The Birth of a Blog
- You and Me Could Write a Bad Romance: Part I
- Bad Romance, Part II: The Couch
- Bastard Package #1
- Hallelujah
- Born This Way
- Baby Girl X
- Another Victim of Love
- True Life
- The Girls Who Went Away
- Love and Other Drugs
- 11 Things Adoptees Love to Hear
- Uh, Never Mind
- Adoptee Kid Lit
- Bastard Princess and the Search for the Holy Grail
- MYOFB
- Awkwardness
- Baby Steps
- Faith, Hope, and Catholic Charities
- Special Delivery
- Green-eyed Monster
- !@#$
- Pandora
- Fantasyland
- Adoptees You May Have Heard Of
- Big MAC Attack
- Material Girl
- VISA and Mastercard Accepted
- Don't Hold Your Breath
- Our Love is Like a Constipated Cat
- A Question of Trust
- Adoption, Hollywood Style
- All in the Family
MYOFB
There’s this creepy guy we used to know back in Chicagoland. He and Jeremy and my brother used to belong to the same fraternal organization near our home. We’d often catch him going out of his way to ride his bike past our house, à la Duckie in Pretty in Pink… except he was an adult. I prefer not to think about why he did it. So I went out of my way to avoid him.
Not long ago, Jeremy fessed up about an incident in which this guy, in his trademarked friendly/nosy way, had interrogated him--he’d cleverly “noticed” a lack of physical resemblance in my family. He obviously suspected we weren’t biologically related because we very vaguely look like each other, but not in the highly detailed way of genetic relatives. I don’t really look like my mom or dad in any specific way—I have dark hair and eyes like my mom’s, and my dad’s a blue-eyed blonde. I think he even came right out and bluntly asked Jeremy if my brother and I were adopted, since I didn’t really resemble anyone else. Caught like a deer in the headlights, Jeremy admitted that, yes, we were--why did he ask? Watson was pretty proud of himself for solving the mystery. I was livid at his intrusion, although it wasn’t my first brush with such an insensitive ass. I wished I’d been the one he’d asked, so I could’ve looked at him with feigned confusion and said, “That’s private. Why would you possibly need to know?” Or, perhaps more appropriately, “Mind your own fucking business.”
I saw the guy and his wife this past summer at my brother’s wedding and basically snubbed them, although I hadn’t planned to. I don’t know if I meant to—I was still disgusted and simply had nothing to say. Half of me feels like an immature bitch, but the other half is cool with the bitch not having to always be nice or be liked by everyone.
Not long ago, Jeremy fessed up about an incident in which this guy, in his trademarked friendly/nosy way, had interrogated him--he’d cleverly “noticed” a lack of physical resemblance in my family. He obviously suspected we weren’t biologically related because we very vaguely look like each other, but not in the highly detailed way of genetic relatives. I don’t really look like my mom or dad in any specific way—I have dark hair and eyes like my mom’s, and my dad’s a blue-eyed blonde. I think he even came right out and bluntly asked Jeremy if my brother and I were adopted, since I didn’t really resemble anyone else. Caught like a deer in the headlights, Jeremy admitted that, yes, we were--why did he ask? Watson was pretty proud of himself for solving the mystery. I was livid at his intrusion, although it wasn’t my first brush with such an insensitive ass. I wished I’d been the one he’d asked, so I could’ve looked at him with feigned confusion and said, “That’s private. Why would you possibly need to know?” Or, perhaps more appropriately, “Mind your own fucking business.”
I saw the guy and his wife this past summer at my brother’s wedding and basically snubbed them, although I hadn’t planned to. I don’t know if I meant to—I was still disgusted and simply had nothing to say. Half of me feels like an immature bitch, but the other half is cool with the bitch not having to always be nice or be liked by everyone.