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I have a confession: I make my dad uncomfortable in restaurants and he has no idea.
That's right, I'm a micro-pettier, and it's time for my truth to be heard.
Every single time I go out to eat with my family, my dad makes a beeline for the booth seat. You know the one — that coveted, cushiony throne against the wall that everyone secretly wants. Without fail, he claims it like it's his divine right, leaving the rest of us perched on those plain, hard wooden chairs (a haemorrhoid sufferer's worst nightmare).
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From when I was a kid, I developed a habit of revenge against my poor, trusting father. Throughout our meals, I conduct what I like to call 'The Great Table Migration'. Inch by inch, I subtly ease the table towards my side. After doing it for over 10 years, it's become an art form.
What results is him having to lean further and further forward to eat his meal. I've perfected this move — it's just enough to make him slightly uncomfortable without ringing any alarm bells.
Honestly, he's getting a free core workout from this, so maybe it's not much of a petty tactic. But will I stop? Never.