It has become increasingly difficult to write about people in my actual life, especially now, a lot of people in my actual life read my blog, and I am no longer blogging anonymously.
Many a night out, now involves at least one person who will ask if this will end up on my blog, and at least one conversation that I must certify, will not to end up on my blog.
More recently, I have been asked, why I am not on your blog?
The truth is, that it is very difficult to write candidly about other peoples stories, There is a particular etiquette to follow and need to get permission to share the story first, lest anybody gets offended or hurt or sue happy.
I recently gained my Step dads permission to begin blogging about him, so long as I didn't put photos of him up, which was a blessing really, as I am yet to find one of him doing anything appropriate.
I introduce to you....
ESMAY. My Step Dad,
......and why I call him Esmay.
When my mother remarried for the third time, we all made Liz Taylor Jokes and welcomed my Step Dad to our family.
My step Dad has two sons, taking my final, Maury Povich certified, sibling count to seven.
I am fortunate enough to love my step siblings, I am very lucky that we all get along and genuinely enjoy spending time together..... even if it doesn't happen all that often anymore..., and I turned into the annoying big sister who bugs them to come and stay at Christmas time.... Like a creep.
As well as providing me with superior quality siblings, My step dad is a fantastic Blog character, (despite me being unable to put most of his stories to print) he is quite the hilarious.
I spent a few hilarious years working with my step Dad, where we shared a territory working for a Marketing Implementation Brokerage. Which was a fancy name, considering they gave us Territory's like Avon representatives,....and we used our own cars, .....and they were a brokerage.
We spent the majority of our time checking that the shelf positioning of Feminine hygiene products, energy drinks and multi vitamins were correctly positioned, and that supermarkets were executing *insert whatever Brand* 's ingenious marketing plan.
Nine times out of ten, someone forgot to tell the supermarket that they were supposed to give a fuck about the brand's ingenious market plan.....even if the brand has already paid for that marketing plan to be implemented.
.So our job would involve, fighting like a scrag only to return next week to beg for a favor.... and so the comedy of errors would begin.
That my friends is what a Corporate Grocery Sales Rep does.
Being a people person with a history in advertising, my Step dad was fantastic at this job, and on the days we spent working together, we could often be found silently crying tears of hysterics after any particular confrontation.
So good at his job was my step dad that he spent an uncanny amount of time observing the goings on of people around him, he would dissect the purchases in the trolleys of shoppers, and take an estimate of their personality type, based on those purchases, to keep himself amused.
Heaven help you if you bought pre cut frozen onions.
It quickly earned him the nick name Esmay, on account of him being ALL up in EVERYBODYS business ALL the time.
I bore you with this tale probably best reserved for a highschool Career Day, because after a recent twitter conversation, involving the tale of why Esmay felt the need to wear chef pants when he is not a chef, opened a plethora of stories previously left untapped, and sitting unappreciated in my hilarious story bank.
Esmay.....Welcome to my blog fodder list... You poor unfortunate man.
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