My intention was to post a version of this yesterday, but I got so caught up pontificating on genetics and breeding and predicting the traits of my nonexistent children, that by the time I was done with the post it was freaking ridiculous. After I read it, I thought, well aren’t I blowing smoke up my own ass? Maybe if I had pictorial evidence of that, I would have considered posting it anyway. But I don’t.
So I scrapped it and started over. Let me begin by saying this post came about after a combination of things; a friend sent me an article from Science Daily about the Neanderthal demise, the text message my father sent me when I asked him to test my phone to see if I could receive texts, and the text message I received from my husband after I specifically told him not to text me.
Smartassery – it’s a genetic thing.
It’s very interesting to discover what you inherit from each parent. I have so, so many traits that come from my dad’s side of the family, and it seems the older I get, the more they show. Most of them I love (my grandma’s coloring). A couple others, not so much (problems with blood sugar, suck-o). I also got the smartassery gene from my dad’s side of family.
But let’s take a step back and look at my dad’s colossal smartassedness. The man is clever and quick. And bless the heart of so many food servers over the years that bore the brunt of his sass. When I was a kid, I dreaded going out to eat with my dad, especially if there was a wait to be seated. There was no telling what on earth he would say to the hostess. We were lucky if he said Rufus McFly. Once he gave the name Vernel, and when the hostess called him, he grabbed my sister and I and introduced as Verbina and Vernessa Odessa (that was me), and he nodded towards my mother and said her name was Vernilla (who, by the way, was frequently immune to his clowning around). The hostess didn’t give a damn, she just wanted to seat us and get back to her job. But I was mortified, and I’m sure I spent at least ten minutes giving my dad the silent treatment. In fact, to this day, a full 22 years after that particular incident, my father still refers to me as Vernessa Odessa. Frequently. Actually, my dad called me a couple hours ago. I asked him to give some smartass examples and for what might have been the first time ever, he couldn’t think of anything (actually that’s not true, but he insisted none of them were appropriate to print, which means they were really good).
I don’t think my sister ever went through the stage of being embarrassed, which made it all the worse for me because she would join in, and then they would gang up on me. A simple trip to the grocery store with the two of them was the equivalent of having the dream where you show up to school naked. You are deeply embarrassed, and there is nowhere to hide (because they would chase me down, both with their fingers up their noses, calling my name just in case one of my school friends were around).
Flash forward a couple decades, and I cackle like the biggest hen in the house over my dad’s antics. I’m not twelve anymore, and therefore I don’t give a rat’s ass about what the hostess, or whoever, thinks. My step-grandmother, who is 80, will hightail it into a restaurant to make sure she gives the name before he does, and that makes both of us laugh all the more.
I wouldn’t characterize my mom as a smartass. Her sass would better be described as snark. So the smartass gene definitely came from my dad, and I carry one copy of it.
You can clearly see the smartassery in his face
So, it should come as no surprise that a) I married a major smartass, and b) my dad and husband get along splendidly.
Smartassedness oozes from my husband. Before we started dating, he used to come into the bar I worked at and spend hours. Most of the time his, um, witticisms, were directed at other people. But occasionally he zinged something in my direction. So, I told him to stop that shit. It’s fine to do it to other people, but don’t do it to me. So he stopped. Until we had been dating a few weeks, and then I came to understand it was deeply imbedded in his character and I was going to have to get used to it. Obviously I did. The nice thing about a super smartass is that they can usually take as much as they dish out.
And that brings me to why my unborn children will come out of the womb spouting inappropriate jokes.
This is why we shouldn't be parents
Somewhere one of you is saying, “But Vesta, that’s a personality trait, not something you’re born with!”
Whoever you are, you are wrong. It’s a gene. A dominant one.
Hahaha. I used to leave the name John Coctostan (Fletch reference for all you young’uns) with the hostess. When they announce that name, everyone waiting looks up. And if the host or hostess says, “Should I put this on the Underhill account?”, then I’d leave a 50% tip. That was the rule.
And seriously, my daughter does the 40 yards ahead, “I’m-a-big-girl-I’m-not-here-with-anyone” fast walk at the mall, and I’m the guy right behind her yelling, “I’m with her! I’m her dad! I drove her here! I’m with her everyone! It’s ok, she’s not unaccompanied!”
I remember that walk, I did it too!
A punnett square! LOVE that you managed to get one in a post. Awesome.
Oh this is a lovely post! So sweet!
What is the difference between snark and smartass?
I have always gotten in trouble for being a smart-ass. It isn’t learned, its totally a gene
There’s no way I can stop. I’d have to nail my face shut. Even if I try really really hard, eventually its going to come out one way or another. And, like your husband, I can totally take as much as I dish out.
My mom is a little bit of a smart ass, but mostly she’s a clown. Oh my gosh, going ANYWHERE with her is embarrassing and always has been. She treats everyone like a long lost friend who is interested in everything she has to say and I think she thinks there are cameras on her at all times because when we’re in public she’s always “on”, always trying to get people to laugh, but in totally unfunny ways. It’s totally mortifying.
Anyway yes your baby is going to come out smoking a cigar, saying “so did you hear the one about…” and then wink at you and say “you gotta work on your delivery toots…” or some such..
Well, to me snark is a little cattier, more snide.
My father-in-law smokes cigars, so your last line could be much more accurate than you think!
After having three children of mine very own, I am SHOCKED at the things that appear to be genetic.
For example: I am a California native. Born and raised. I have sea, sun, avocados and tolerance flowing through my veins in the most wonderful way possible. (Natch.) In my wayward and wicked youth, I married a tall handsome man from Baltimore (who will be from here on in referred to as “The Baltimoron”). He spoke with a funny accent but I looked past that because he was tall and had green eyes and a resemblance to Tom Cruise, back in his Risky Business Days. One thing to led to another and I had three boy in rapid succession, all born in California.
All raised in California.
All raised in California by a mom who was born and raised in California.
They all speak with a Maryland accent.
WTF, even.
They stand like their dad, nod their heads like their dad, use the same jackass stupid slang that their dad uses…
Sigh.
On the plus side, they all have my unfortunate sense of humor, knack for falling down in public, and talk on the phone while they’re taking a bath. They burst into song while meandering around the house.
Genetics?
You betchum, Red Rider.
Hey, you goin to do the warsh with soap and warter, hon? We’re goin down e oshun, hon.
Something like that?
As a Marylander, I take offense to the idea that people from Baltimore have our accent.
Baltimore, the armpit of Maryland, has its own dialect.
To quote Norm Macdonald, “Baltimore is a dirty, ugly city.”
I hope your kids grow out of that one.
GAHHH!
See? You just proved my point. I think.
My son and I were the ones that would do our best to embarrass the rest of the family when we went out in public. It can’t be helped. Like you said, it’s genetic.
Is the Evel Kneivel-like need to perform dangerous stunts genetic too?
Genetic. Completely and totally genetic for sure. My hubs is a smart ass. He comes from a long line of smart asses and all of his siblings are smart asses, as well as his neices and nephews.
I am the snark.
My kids are doomed I think is what you are saying? Yes. Yes indeed.
Well, not doomed. But I’m pretty sure you are in for a wild ride.
I’m Ss and my husband is Ss, but I don’t believe for a second that we wouldn’t have an uber-smartass kid. I’m actually not sure I’d know what to do with a kid who wasn’t.
Yeah, the percentages are not on your side, nor mine.
My dad likes to ask the teller at the bank for his cashed check “in sevens and threes”, and when he got his hair buzz-cut before traveling for weeks, the lady spun him around with the mirror – as always – and asked how he liked it. His reply: “could you cut it just an eight-inch longer on the sides?”
Yeah, he thinks he’s funny. I seem to have missed that gene. …at least, I’m never intentionally like that!
I have the gene, and my smartassery never goes over well.
Hi, Vesta! I just discovered your blog a few weeks ago and I’m enjoying your achives!
I just wanted to give you a big thumbs up on the Punnet Square!
I was recently having a very exhausting conversation with my mother-in-law about how my future children will definitely have blue eyes, because both my husband and I both have blue eyes, which is a recessive gene. She kept insisting that I was absolutely wrong and there is always a chance that our kids could have brown eyes.
I drew her a Punnett Square, thinking the conversation was done. Point proven. By SCIENCE.
She still tells me I’m wrong.
Aaaarrrgh!
Hey Michelle!
That’s hilarious. Tell her that the only way they might have brown eyes is if the mailman is involved:)