Who’s your daddy?
Three days into my first week at St Andrews, I realised there was a grand auction taking place. A bidding process for fresh meat all about timing, first impressions and […]
“Do you want a dad/mum?” was the pick-up line of the month and the town was buzzing with big-eyed, bushy tailed freshers in search of guidance. It was a scavenger hunt on both sides and everything about one’s demeanor was a sales pitch. A friend was even handed a business card that said “WHO’S YOUR DADDY?” on the front, with a photo of the wannabe father on the back and a description that was along the lines of “professional douche bag, alcohol enthusiast and overall asshole”. If you’re reading this “professional douche bag”, no you are not a “LEDGE”, but have way too much time on your hands and a bizarre fondness for discovering new features on Microsoft Word.
I didn’t think it could get worse, but then madness ensued. Stories came out, parents were upgraded and drunken family dinners were more incestuous than Fritzl’s basement. Personally, my academic family is amazing, irreplaceable and wholly platonic. But in this tiny town we all have the friend who’s getting it on with “mummy dearest” or (brace yourselves) “daddy”. Of course I’ve heard about the beautiful love story that involved the academic mother and son getting together and being in a relationship till this very day, but it seems that most daughters looking for true love with their “dad” can think again.
A friend of mine slept with her academic dad during her first week here and being the charming chap he is, he texted her the next day saying it would be “awkward” to still be her dad and that she should find another one. I mean we all know that chivalry is dead but at this point its mangled corpse was dug up from the grave and shot in the face just for good measure.
“Don’t shit where you eat” is always a good mantra when it comes to academic families. If you want to maintain a lasting friendship with your academic mum and dad DO NOT throw sexual tension and awkwardness into the mix. This small print also applies to any “aunties” and “uncles” that will casually come along for Raisin celebrations and see you in your most drunken and disorderly state.
Side note: Just to be on the safe side, write a little memo on your palm to stare at as you sway back and forth on their doorstep this Sunday – “mix drinks, not relatives”.
Written by, Yousra Elbagir, standpoint writer