What's with the title of this blog? Well, it's inspiration came from a story about my dad introducing my mom (his girlfriend at the time...gross, btw, that they were ever girlfriend and boyfriend) to his family. My dad remembers bringing my mom over to meet his Uncle Luigi, the patriarch of the family. After she made a nice introduction (she was a First Class International Pan Am stewardess and this was the 70s, so she knew just what to do), everyone wanted to know Uncle Luigi's verdict. It became known that he said five little words that will live on in infamy in our family: What's. Wrong. With. This. Girl. "What's wrong with this girl?" Here's the infamy part:
Dad says that Uncle Luigi put the emphasis on the word WRONG.
Mom says that Uncle Luigi put the empahsis on the word THIS.
Mom stands by the belief that Uncle Luigi prompting my dad to snatch up my mom as in "I know you're a picky man, but what's wrong with this girl?" But Dad insists he was flashing warning signs, dropping the guillotine, trying to protect his beloved method. "John, we love you, you generally have great taste, but seriously what is wrong with this girl?"
Well, if Dad is right, he didn't listen. They just celebrated their 34th wedding anniversary.
So what does this have to do with me?
I think I'm always asking myself the same questions...only about me. And the emphasis keeps switching words, depending on the day...no hour...let's be honest: minute. What's wrong with me? What wrong with me?"
And now you know.
