‎”So, what nationality are you?”

A guy is continuing a blinding amount of small talk. Small talk, not my favorite thing, as you may have figured. And I’m not going to be Larry David and try to elevate it to medium talk. I’m going to push the mute button on that elevator.

He asks what nationality I am. I’ve always found that a weird question. So I answer with,

“It’s kinda weird,” I begin. “My Mother was Irish and Scottish and my father was a rapist.”

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