I’m doing my best to keep the witty Dad tradition alive:
Daughter was sitting at the dining room table, struggling with 9th grade geometry. At one point she asks, exasperated, “What is an apothem?”
beat
“It’th an animal that liveth in the woodth” I lisped. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her laugh so hard.
She got me back, though, this summer. We were walking out of the theater after seeing “Over the Hedge”, and I was explaining to her about William Shatner’s acting style and how it fit the character in the movie.
“Kinda like a geometric figure, huh?”
“What?”
“Think about it, Dad.”
I couldn’t walk straight for a few minutes from laughing so hard.
We are of one mind on this particular childrearing practice. Some of my exchanges with my daughter have gone like this:
Her: “Daddy, can you put my shoes on for me?”
Me: “I can try, but I don’t think they’ll fit me.”
Her: “No! Put them on me!”
(I place the shoes gently on top of her head)
Her: “Daddy, I’m hungry!”
Me: “And I’m Italy. So nice to meet you.”
Her: “Daddy, how fast can you count to 100?”
Me: “100”
Her: “Yeah, how fast can you count to 100?”
Me: “I just did.”
Her: “Huh?”
Me: “Yup. I counted by hundreds.”
Either she’ll grow up to be a wit, or she’ll hack me to death with a chainsaw on her 13th birthday.
My pride and joy, though, as far as smartass answers, was back when I worked at a university. I often ate my lunch in the cafeteria, and usually paid by check – a privilege extended to faculty and staff members. So one day, when I handed my check to the cashier, she asked me if I was staff. Without even thinking about it, I replied “no, I’m strep.” And off I sauntered.
I never will, though, but I just about lost it there. Thanks for that.
Mine was meant to be a rhetorical question. In Reno there was this parking garage, and it was a FREE parking garage. There was a security guard, but he was there to intimidate people from leaving grafitti and such. So we parked there and went to this bar, and then came back to go grab something from the store. We all pile into my car and go over to the exit, and the guard says something like “This is the parking garage for the El Dorado! If you want to go to the Blue Lamp, find somewhere else to park!” in this reeeeally cranky tone.
So we pull out and I’m like “Why is HE so bitchy?”
To which my sister deadpanned “Because he’s not a REAL cop.”
Dad story: My father’s response, to anyone who asked “who invented X?” (insert anything you are curious about here)
was “Irving X”
So - “Dad, who invented ping-pong?” “Irving Ping-Pong, son.” completely deadpan - you are welcome to picture him offering this response from behind a newspaper, 50’s sitcom style…
“Up”, is the opposite of the direction of the unit vector (del f)/|f|, where del f = (df/dx)*i + (df/dy)*j + (df/dz)*k, and f(x, y, z) is the trivariate function for gravitational potential in three-dimensional space.
I don’t know, but my dad told me a similar story when I asked him about black and white pictures and movies.
Also, my entire life, when ever anyone asked my father what he was thinking about, his response would be “Warthogs.” You see, back in the day, there was evidently a SNL sketch in which Chevy Chase and some actress (he can’t remember who) are sitting in some romantic little restaurant and Chase asks the woman what she’s thinking about. Her reply is “Warthogs.” The scene then cuts to warthogs running around the savanna, accompanied (of course) by calliope music. This sketch stuck in my dad’s head so much that the question “What are you thinking about?” always reminds him of warthogs and thus, by the time the question has been asks, he really is thinking about warthogs.
It rubbed off on us kids too. My sister and I (and probably my little brother too) always give that answer to “What are you thinking about?” because it reminds us of Dad’s answer.
Sweet Jesus!!! My mother used to do the same damned thing!!! In fact, I recently had a client who’s last name was Yarashus. All I could hear in my head was my mother “your ASS is Annie” (not her real name). I would crack up at work every time I’d see the name in print, and finally I had to explain “your ASS is” to my coworkers. My hubby does this for me now.
I miss that woman! I honestly never thought I’d hear of someone else’s parent doing this. I feel we’ve bonded over weirdness now.
My aged father has never been a hat-wearin’ man. When I was little, and wore a baseball cap, this was our conversation:
DAD: “Son, you ought to have two hats like that.”
ME: “Why?”
DAD: “So you can shit in one and wipe your ass with the other.”
When my 20-something son was about twelve my father pulled that on him. The look on the boy’s face was priceless…
Mom (Ann) is well known at her workplace for her cheery attitude and constant smile. Her co-workers tease her constantly about her unflappable good mood.
Co-worker Sue is a quiet and serious woman of the notoriously solemn Pentecostal faith.
I visited Mom at work last week and was standing by her desk when another co-worker named Linda stopped to say hello. When we turned back to my mother, she was gone. In Mom’s chair was her crumpled cardigan sweater.
Linda “Well, what happened to Ann? She was right here a minute ago.”
As Sue was walking by she glanced down at the sweater and deadpanned “I poured water on her.”
I live in townhouses at college, myself and three roommates seem to be constatly lending out our possesions. One night five of us were sitting about the dinner table, drinking and playing poker at about 2am. In bursts a girl named Alicia, and askes hurriedly “Do any of you guys have a dictionary”, Scotty drunk as hell, and usually the quiet one, flexes then sputters “Who needs a dictionary when you’ve got THIS MUCH DEFINITION?!”.
