Miscommunication

Here are a couple of recent conversations that I had with my dad that fall under the category of “miscommunication.” I’d have to say about 75% of the conversations we have belong in this category.

[I’m using the computer. I go to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee. I come back and my dad is at the computer.]

Me:    Dad, I was using that.

Dad:  Well I need it. It’s my computer.

Me:    And unfortunately for me I don’t have a computer (stolen in April).

Dad:  I don’t have one either!*

Me:    You just said that was your computer!!

Dad:  Oh.

*”Miscommunication” might be stretching it in this case…

***********************************

Dad:  Are you going to hang out with Kay (my 10 year old cousin from Switzerland) when he’s here? He likes you for some reason.

Me:    Way to build my confidence, dad.

Dad:  That’s not what I meant! You know I’m not a Canuck!*

Me:    Yet you’ve been in this country for over 30 years.

*My dad is referring to the fact that he moved to Toronto at 20 years of age without a lick of English. Working as a tool and die maker in a factory, he quickly picked up a colourful vocabulary of cuss words. Five years later he met my mom, who was fresh off the boat from England. She refined his language with her proper British speech.  Still, he likes to use “Foreigner” as an excuse for putting his foot in his mouth.

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