The Method To My Madness

No Direction

Dear Reader,

Unless you live under a rock in the deepest depths of an Amazonian cave I'm sure you've heard of the British boy band named One Direction. Especially with all of the fan fics that are passionately dedicated to them all over the worldwide interwebs. I can understand loving someone's music, I can understand the attraction, but what I can't understand is death by ovarian explosion. The feels you say. What would happen if you met them in person? I can already tell you because I've seen this happen before. Some would faint, some would cry, some would beg them to be their spouse, and sadly some will do all 3 plus urinate on themselves. I wish I were kidding but I'm not.

However that pain I feel when I see someone cry over a band they most probably will never marry is not my point. No my point is children obsessing over one direction strikes fear within the heart of my dad. Gather round and let me tell you all a story.

It was once a crisp sunny Sunday. Superbowl Sunday to be exact. We had just finished having lunch at Katz's and people if you haven't had the joy of eating there..... I feel bad for you. Now my father was on the hunt for a bicycle. So first we went to the sports store across the way from the restaurant but he didn't find one he liked. So we then traveled under the freeway to the Academy store across from the mall. No bike there either but plenty of guns my dad wanted. Then my dad decided what the hell let us go to the Toys R Us next door.

So we walk over and I realized that no matter how old I get, when I walk in to a toy story with my dad I end up calculating how to get him to buy me something. Sad, I know. We walk over to the bikes but of course they are for children. Shocking. So we turn to leave and as we are walking my dad catches a glimpse of a display for 1D dolls. We go over and my father asks me if I knew why Liam and Louis were cheaper than the rest. Tragically my father made the mistake of pronouncing it Lewis instead of Louie. Next thing we know there are 2 girls around the age of 6 and they have backed my father in to a corner and they begin to verbally abuse him.

Picture this if you will, a cute blonde girl with glasses sternly lecturing a middle aged man that the doll/guy's name is NOT Lewis and it is in fact LOUIE, her adorable companion with pigtails begins screaming that everyone with two brain cells knows this, and me bent over with tears pouring from my orbs (I put orbs in for those fancy bitches) as I laugh so hard no noise comes out so I'm left clutching my stomach and gasping for air.

I eventually get my wits about me, walk over and grab him by the arm as the little girls continue to rant and rave at him. My father at this point has lost his speaking abilities and his face has become frozen with horror while the fear of God shines bright in his eyes. I of course being the daughter I am then decide to join the little girls and tell him everyone knows it's pronounced Louie. The blonde girl quickly turns around with her finger pointing between my eyebrows and yells "I LIKE YOU! YOU'RE SMART." To which I say yes I am, high five her, call her my favorite homie, then bolt from the store dragging my father behind me.

Once we got back in the car my dad turned to me and said that tiny boy band obsessed children scared him. I only smiled and said it's good to know I was a scary child. I say this because I was convinced I was the future Mrs. Nick Carter and Justin Timberlake was going to be the best man at our wedding. I have since then seen the error of my ways and have learned fan girls are scary creatures of the night. So to all you directioners out there I salute you. You scare me.