Why I am my parents daughter!

My father, Oswald D’souza buys pizzas with discount coupons from delivery menus and then brags about the money he saves to his colleagues, most of whom are 15 years younger to him.

My mother, Delrine D’souza is color blind and when left to dress up by herself ends up resembling a street dancer on steroids. Mom asks “Is this scarf purple or lavender?” And even though the scarf is actually bright green, we say “Purple, mom, purple”


When my dad wears his shorts, he never fails to pull up his tube socks, up and over his knees.

My mother absolutely doesn’t suffer from any kind of bodily malfunction or digestive system involving her rear end. She doesn’t crap, fart neither cause any sort of aggravation from that end nor does she discuss such distasteful and ignorant topics. YOU NEVER EVER ACCUSE her of even hinting at a fart, lest you want to be looked at with daggers.

Dad refuses to encourage technology. We have unused dishwashers, cordless phones, cable TV set top boxes, mobile phones, that dad keeps on display, titled “Future Art.”


Mom’s idea of our bedtime stories was, “Once upon a time when I was a young girl of 9 or 10, I used to play on the sidewalks outside our house. Suddenly this ragged disheveled long haired boy started chasing, I ran four blocks and after I grew tired, I grabbed his hair, hurled him in circles around my head, he screamed in pain, as his life hung gently in my hands. After which, he never troubled me again. Ok, now go to sleep.”  After which, Dad became my good night story teller.

SmiLe plz!

Whenever my father begins a conversation with, “Daughter of mine” – I know that either of the following will follow. Either a drawn-out, theatrical, sincere tirade on what can go wrong with my finances and what I can do to make them right OR a drawn-out, theatrical, sincere tirade on what went wrong with them and what I should have done. Dad knows his math like Garnier knows shampoo. Lather, repeat? Budget, repeat.

Mothr n daughter

Mom tries to start a conversation with every checkout person at every store she goes into, using dad’s discount coupons and freebies. Something like “Jim [or whatever is the person’s name on his badge]- so it’s the 600 fils offer is it? This scam. I know this scam!!” or “Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, please don’t go begging on my man!”

My father will find a pair of shoes that will fit. And then he won’t buy another pair until his pinkie toes dangerously poke out at the edges and the leather has been eaten. His rationale… “There is nothing wrong with these shoes! I can walk from Point M to Point N without an issue. Moreover, I sleep well at night knowing I survived yet another day without 20 Dinar shoes! Amen!!”

My parents are very rational, practical, level-headed people. Until they meet humans between the ages of 6 months and 3 years. After which then turn into slobbering, disgruntled epileptic mental children, imitating sounds you would hear out of a Japanese anime gone wrong.

If you have something important to discuss with my parents, precede with how you used to baby sit an overgrown 6 month old baby. No infant is safe around my parents, their diets consist of it. But whatever said, my quirks are generic and I love them for it. Years from now, my children will write the same about their mother, I WILL MAKE THEM DO IT!

mama and da


12 thoughts on “Why I am my parents daughter!

  1. Absolutely loved it…. felt as if they were right in front of my eyes… .. Got only one thing or rather things to say after reading this post over n over … MARVELOUS .. 😀 ,EMOTIONAL :-‘( and HEARTFELT <3,

    Start writing a book already .. What are you waiting for ???

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