Handshake

[After the rather dismal turn my posts were taking, I thought a father dear story was in order.]

So this was back in the day, when the ex and I were still an item. He was away sailing, and banter in our home reigned supreme as usual. We were talking about the “sailor”, as my father referred to him. [My father was just being cute. However, the naval hierarchy is so rigid, the ex, was a lieutenant commander at the time, probably didn’t appreciate being likened to what was effectively the rank and file. Colossal ego.]

Anyway.

Mom: *something something about the relationship and future plans*
Dad: “He has to come talk to me first, before I let him marry my daughter!”
Me: *cocking an eyebrow* “Well, this is archaic. He has to come ask for my hand?”
Dad: “Yes. He has to come ask me. I will show him your hand. He can shake it, and go away.”

True story.

[Dad was a little against me getting married, not seriously, but emotionally. He never wanted me to leave home, and when I broke up with the ex, he told my mother: “Good! Tell her to forget marriage, and just change boyfriends every 6 months!”]

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