Your Unemployed Daughter

photo credit: kevindooley

Last night I had dinner with a group of friends, one of whom admitted that he was “a little bit afraid of the blog.”

Oh dear. It was not YUD’s intention to strike fear in the hearts of men (or maybe it was, a little). But it is an interesting side effect.

“What is it that scares you, really?” I asked. “You know I don’t name names.” (And I never purposely skewer anyone, unless they really, really deserve skewering and are some kind of public figure, like a certain publisher, or a racist cop.) Or they do something so stupid it has to be brought forward, for the good of society. I mean, that’s just public service.

“Well,” he stammered, “I had a lot of people calling me after certain posts.”

It turned out that, unbeknownst to YUD, she had offended important players in the UVA community, who run a tight, and seemingly blog-unfriendly, ship. And yet all she had said was this:

People are slowly starting to trickle in for the wedding, and there are now two distinct groups: the groom’s friends, who all went to UVA (a school our groom’s Harvard-educated bride loves to disdain, although secretly I think she may be jealous of the aplomb with which they wear their caps and tackle the rocky terrain) and the bride’s friends, a mixed bag of highly educated, tall-tan-and-terrific semi-employed (in conglomerate) peoples including me, another woman, and her husband.

Wow, somebody’s nervous about something! Now, seeing as how I was confined to a rather small (but lovely) resort with those people at that time, I was quite careful not to mention anything that might be construed as controversial or condemning (not that there was anything, of course). I did not even discuss the colorful array of pink and yellow and pink and seersucker and pink and pink donned by the UVA contingent, a group unafraid to embrace their inner (and outer) prep.

Seriously, I don’t want to make anyone (too) uncomfortable. I really am a nice girl. I am. And I like you UVA people, I do! And your adorable style!

But there comes a time when the tale is too good, the anecdote too perfect. I’m just going to have to use it. In which case, if you’re too close to the flame, you may get burned. (At the same time, I promise to identify you by initial only, or not at all, and to make your penis really small so you don’t even recognize yourself. And to smooth aloe vera on your singed spirit afterward.)

The lesson, really, is this. If you meet YUD, just behave yourself. And by that I mean, do whatever you want to do. Just don’t fire me. Or make me go home early. Or be boring.