My dad refuses to go to my website. I shouldn't be all that surprised, he had to hang up the phone after he called to tell me that my health insurance statement had been sent to him and I warned him that he would find birth control on it. We didn't talk for weeks after that. Later, he googled me, only to find a first-person piece I'd written on colonic irrigation. I guess the "my ass had finally lost its virginity" line really got to him.
Tonight, he called to tell me he'd seen that I'd made the July 8 New York Times. He had searched that site for my name, assuming it was safe and that he'd not find anything he didn't want to. I told him to visit the press section of my casserole website to see all the other press I'd gotten, and that there was only one thing that might bother him, "but I'd be happy to warn--"
"No, I won't go to your website."
"But it's just--"
"No, Emily. Drop the subject."
"But I can warn you wha--"
"Emily, drop the subject now. I'm not going to your website."
"This is ridiculous, it's not even-"
"DROP the subject, Emily."
Alright. How 'bout them Chiefs?