Peep! goes the paranoid antennae in the back of my head. I really do try to hide it, I promise. And trust me, it’s not like I like having that obnoxious thing around, intruding upon strangers, or getting caught on random hooks. But too bad, I can’t just ignore it, like I ignore my phone calls and my homework and my whiny sister and most of my problems. Because even though the peeping might go away, the guilt will be there forever.
My dad likes to frequently mention Taken. Everytime I mention a sleepaway trip with a friend, or even an innocuous visit to the mall, he likes to revert back to that overly magnified & impractical Hollywood movie that has had two too many sequels and I’d like to blame him for installing this annoying radar.
But at the end of the day, whether it be a day of holding my tongue through the frequent surreptitious looks that man has been giving me, or a day of fake smiling at that innocent-looking middle aged lady that is probably after my organs, I would like to say to my dad, thanks. Because for all that it was worth (it being the long tangents on creeps and sickos, the stringent self defense moves that will never work on anyone even a pound heavier than me, and the emergency whistles and weapons and plans and what not) I’d like to think I’m not just some total wide-eyed gullible callower, nope. I am informed, and aware, and if you weigh 113 lbs, I could totally whoop your ass. Love you, daddy ❤
Tip of the Tongue Syndrome 