My dad makes me laugh. I think he is funny, and I think I am funny, too. Yesterday I sent a text to my sister that said: I think I’m really funny. And she wrote back to tell me: You are funny. But maybe she thinks I am funny, but not really funny, which now makes me concerned.
On March 23, I told her this: The day I went running in my purple Nikes was yesterday. And I thought I was maybe going to die. For real. Pigs were flying and I was hunched over on the side of the road about to vomit. I was thinking that maybe someone could put me on the dollar/mile program, so yesterday I nearly killed myself for a dollar and a dime that nobody is really going to pay me. Yep, that’s right. I ran 1.1 mile(s?) and died. The end.
I know that is what I told her because I looked it up on Facebook, and it’s a true story. So yesterday morning, after two weeks of my mom asking me if I’d checked my mail yet, I checked my mail. I quickly sorted through the unimportant stuff and spotted two envelopes that were clearly from someone whose name wasn’t Wachovia or Verizon or AARP (why do I get AARP stuff every day?). One was a love letter and special star sticker from my mom, and the other was a card from my dad.
The card is maybe for a seven year old. And I love it. A yellow mother bear with flowers on her head is sitting on a hill, hugging her white bear child. Inside, in his unique mixture of capital and lowercase letters, my dad wrote:
I’m so proud of
you I heard you ran a mile …
call me when you think
I owe you money.
1 fun buck per mile.
Four dollar bills were enclosed. And yes, he really wrote "Tessa's Dad". It made me really happy. And I think he is really funny, don’t you? Circle yes or no. So. Looks like I have 2.9 miles to run. And in case you didn't pick up on this, I don't run. Or exercise. Ever. In fact, I just finished off a half gallon of thin mint icecream last night.