The Stanimal is a Longhorn dad (sort of)

When I was in college, I bought my father an I AM A LONGHORN DAD burnt-orange bumper sticker in a desperate attempt to be normal. See, our little family of three immigrants didn't do a lot of the things my friends' families did. Things like:

• drinking beverages in the car
• throwing away receipts for two-dollar items purchased On the Fly
• purchasing things On the Fly
• socializing with other human beings (Except Poles. Poles were ok as long as they were of the intelligentsia and not that trash that comes over to the States to do asbestos work.)
• watching sitcoms
• laughing
• eating foods that are not European in origin
• reminiscing about the past
• singing (I don't think I ever heard my mother sing before she died. Note to self: ask the Stanimal to sing over Christmas.)
• and lastly: using bumper stickers

An I AM A LONGHORN DAD bumper sticker seemed like a very American, wholesome thing to buy. So I did. But I can't say that I was too surprised when, the next time I came home, I saw that my dad had PROPPED the I AM A LONGHORN DAD bumper sticker up against the back windshield of his car for the occasion.

For those of you who don't know me IRL, this seems like the appropriate time to divulge the following fact: I used to play bank with myself when I was little. Go ahead, laugh; all my friends find it spectacularly amusing. I'd get deposit and withdrawl slips when I'd go to the bank with my mom, and I'd come home, organize them, fill them out. I kept a little ledger of transactions. THIS WAS MY FAVORITE CHILDHOOD GAME.

It all makes sense now, doesn't it?

Susan Cannon was the muse for this post.