Wherever I go one of the first comments I get is: "You certainly take after your father don't you!"
This is perfectly acceptable to say to boys - broadly speaking, but less so for 22 year old girls when your dad look like this....
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| BIG BAD BAZ |
So there he is - daddykins. Who I fondly refer to a 'Big Bad Baz'. (Not so fond when my phone is blaring on a Saturday morning after Fruity and I look at the screen and it says 'Big Bad Baz is calling' at which point I get to happily ignore him.)
Now I get some of the similarities which my father has to happily bestowed upon me: rather rotund frame, dark hair, both Indian. But REALLY?! I do think when people say 'spitting image' they are just out to deliberately make me cry.
My mum on the other hand: small, petite, high cheekbones, creative flair, culinary genius -the list goes on. Cross reference those to myself.
Small - nope, not at all. Except I have abnormally small baby toes.
Petite - that word only enters my vocabulary when describing Chihuahuas, or quickly walking past the 'petite' section in topshop
High cheekbones - I think I can somewhere feel cheekbones under my chubby cheeks but in now way are they prominent features.
Creative Flair - Now I do like to think I am creative but this is more of a subjective opinion. I think creative is downloading the colouring-in app on my ipad, whereas mum draws for fun.
Culinary Genius - well we were bound to have something in common.
But I feel its fair to say, I inherited my dad's genes. Thanks dad, thanks a lot. You gave me the metabolism that mirrors the speed of a tortoise.
The clearly uncanny likeness between me and my dad is getting so bad that I was even recognised at Law School in Leeds with no Baz present.
I was moderately excited for my lunch with the Attorney General and the Solicitor General, because I had been a keen bean at the beginning of law school and wanted to get involved, a decision I regretted almost instantly. So suited and booted I sat down and in bounds a few rather plump and important looking men. One of them parked himself opposite me and introduced himself as the Solicitor General (didn't actually know what that meant but presumed he was some kind of big dawwg). He had that public school boy act down to a tee and blathered on about how his daughter went to Leeds university to do journalism...snore, snore, snore. So having fully introduced himself he then proceeded to make the three of us on the table introduce ourselves - the usual: where you are from, interest in the law (slightly difficult for me as I have very little interest in the law -but you know gotta make that shit up) So it was my turn and I said I was from Leicestershire (never want to say just Leicester as it has bad connotations, so I pretend I'm more rural than I probably am). The SG was then completely interested as it turns out I fell under his constituency. It all went down hill from there.
He looked at ny name tag (probably inappropriately placed right on my boob rather than above...awks), then looked at my face, looked at my name tag/boob and then said to me 'No relation to Baz are you? I am sensing a family resemblance.'
Thanks SG you basically said I looked like a Mexican bandit with an overgrown tasche. Needless to say I was quite literally overshadowed from that moment on. Daddy there is no escaping you. Of course dad thought it was hilarious - he loves to be the centre of attention even more than I do.
I suppose being the mini (more a term of phrase than an actual assessment of our frames) Big Bad Baz isn't all bad, it does mean for the most part I outsmart my brother and sister into making them do things for me. But I'm not going to lie getting mum's physical genes would have made my teenage years a lot less challenging.
Well, you're on your own now pops. The only resemblance there is going to be now is when I am in dire need of my upper lip waxing.
Fatty BB xxx
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