Drew’s Father-in-Law Discovers the Site

I’ve had more than my fair share of mortifying moments over the course of my existence, the worst of which occurred freshman year in college, when my roommate and his girlfriend walked in on me masturbating during “The Price Is Right”. You know who the big loser that episode was? Me. When something like that happens, you hope (actually, you pray) that life will imitate pornography. In this case, it did not. I went to a school that had 1500 students. I may as well have spent the next four years wearing a t-shirt that said, “I’m the guy who was beating off to Switcheroo.” Sucked.

Of course, it was my own doing. I could have locked the door. But no, I had to whip my dick out the second I saw one of Barker’s Beauties straddling a jet ski. Nice going, Drew. Way to ruin the best four years of your life. Apparently, my dignity was the next item up for bids.

I’ve had other terrible moments too. One time I made a joke about Tourette’s Syndrome in front of a girl who, of course, had Tourette’s Syndrome. But that wasn’t the worst part. Here was the subsequent exchange:

“Oh, you have Tourette’s?”
“Yes.”
“But I thought you had OCD.”
“I have that, too.”
“Oh.” (This is the point where I contemplate stabbing myself with a butter knife.)

So if you’re looking for stories of humiliation, my life is a riches of embarrassment. Which makes the events of yesterday inevitable. I’m very close to my in-laws. Literally. They’re 10 minutes away. Some men would cringe at the idea. But I get along quite well with Mrs. Drew’s folks. Sure, we’ve had an awkward moment or two. For example, Mrs. Drew’s dad doesn’t like it when people drop the f-bomb. I learned the hard way during a particularly spirited game of Yahtzee. I had a bad roll, and then blurted this treasure out:

“Fuck! Oh shit, did I say fuck? I’m sorry.”

So that got me a few points deducted. Otherwise, our relationship has been sterling. Which made it easier when I walked in the door to their house last night and Mrs. Drew’s dad said, “Oh, I read your blog over the weekend.”

Huh? What? What the fuck? How did he know? I don’t have my full name on this shit. I turned to Mrs. Drew, giving her the “Holy fuck, did you forward this to your own dad?” look. She was as dumbfounded as I was.

“Yeah, you left the address in the browser window.”

Fu-uck!

In my mind, I freaked. Her dad doesn’t like the f-bomb? Christ, this site is littered with them! It’s not my fault! I’m just a lazy fucking writer! Oh God, I mention masturbation in the blog, too! He knows I hitchhike under the big top! I mention sex with Mrs. Drew! Porn! He knows I’ve seen porn! Gahhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!! Idiot! Moron! Asshat!

And so on and so forth. In the end, it wasn’t a big deal. Out of anybody, my father-in-law knows that men don’t really ever mature. They simply put up a more convincing façade for their immaturity as years go by. And he understood that I need the occasional creative outlet. He actually said the blog was funny. So that was good. But we both agreed he probably shouldn’t read it anymore. And I hope he doesn’t, given the first paragraph of this story.