Forgive me for sounding like an old fuddy duddy, but boy oh boy times have really changed. I agree with almost everything in this video. I, however, am perfectly fine being a helicopter parent.

At 38-years-old I still call my Dad when something goes wrong. Whether it be a broken faucet or a drained car battery my Dad comes to the rescue. He may bitch to my Mom, but never complains to me. He lifts me up when I am down. I’m speaking figuratively. He would need some juice from A-Rod in order to pick up these thunder thighs. Seriously, I would be lost without him. He taught me to cook, use tools and is the reason I talk so damn much. He can have an hour long conversation with a stranger at the supermarket.

My Dad has always put his kids first. Growing up he worked two jobs to provide for our family. He never complained. I did. I was a child who couldn’t see beyond my own shadow.
Basically, I was Nellie Oleson in a Michael Jackson concert t-shirt.

I may still be a bitch, but I look at my Dad differently now. I appreciate everything he does. Well, I don’t particularly enjoy being lectured when I discipline my kids, but alas. I guess it’s not the end of the world if they use wire hangers. My father loves his grandchildren unconditionally. He would do anything for them. I hope they realize it a lot sooner than I did.

The barista at Starbucks hates me. She hasn’t said so, but it’s pretty clear. She whispers to another worker when I approach the counter. It takes me back to middle school. I walk proudly into the building wearing my WHAM shirt, George Michael’s face plastered across my chest and my name monogrammed on the back. I thought I looked good. A few boys whispered and laughed. I never wore that shirt again. I am a grown woman and will be damned if I back down to a barista.

I think my drink order irritates her. I always get an iced, venti, non-fat caramel macchiato with an extra pump of vanilla and extra caramel. I have tried to joke about how obnoxious it sounds. “I might as well just get a milkshake,” I say followed by an uncomfortable giggle. She must have been trained by the guards at Buckingham Palace. It doesn’t matter what comes out of my mouth she remains stone faced. I have tried to relate to her, “I used to work at Starbucks in college.” I just come off sounding like a pompous ass. I worked here, but now I am better than you. That is not my intention. She won’t even smile at my 3-year-old daughter who is cute as hell. It’s not paranoia because I’ve seen her interact with other customers. She is friendly and even laughs on occasion. I would go to another Starbucks, but there is only one in my damn town. This is something that would happen to Elaine Benes. Come to think of it, we are a lot alike.