today, he helped me fix up my mom's old bike for me to ride, which is super awesome. he walked me through changing the tire and everything so i can do it later if i need to. and that was so nice, and i was on a little dad high. about an hour later, i came home with a big bleeding scrap on my leg from were it brushed the gears. i told him wat happened as i climbed on the counter between the sink and the medicine cabinet to address my 'wound'. now, you should know, i want to be a nurse when i grow up, and i kinda enjoy/love blood and gross things, as was i quite proud of my most recent impailment. as i started running it under water, my dad got up from the couch and said 'let's take a look at this'. without looking out, i proped my leg up with pride. however, my dad turned the corner into the garage to 'take a look at' my bike. not me. not my leg. not my boo-boo.
my throut got tight and i blushed as i turned my head, feeling stupid. after a few seconds, i got composed, and assured myself that he didn't realize wat i had thought he meant, and in his mind he was looking out for me.
this seems to be wat always happens. he's nice, and he does things for me, but, not really.
No comments:
Post a Comment