After I plunked down my $100 and spit in a cup, “Twenty Three and Me” traced my heritage all the way back to my Neanderthal beginnings. I do have rather long arms and love to chew on a drumstick at tailgate parties. Hmmm.
Well, that explains many disturbing things. For one, I suffer from low knees. It used to puzzle me that when my girlfriends and I had our pictures made, my knees were a good four inches lower than everyone else’s and I don’t have much of a chin. If I were 100 percent human I would be 5’9”, 15 pounds lighter, and modeling for Cato’s by now.
I also learned that on my Daddy’s side, I came from Ireland rather than the opposition at Custer’s last stand. I was so proud of my Native American heritage and now it’s blown to bits. My grandmother told me my Dad’s great grandmother was a full blooded Choctaw, and I spent my youth at “Shoot ‘em Ups” cheering for the guys wearing war paint and feathers. Nope, no Choctaw showed up. Neanderthal did.
This is why I can’t wear skinny jeans.
But that certainly explains my love of potatoes and I won’t even go to into my hips and small bust, but the above photo tells it all. There’s really nothing I can do about any of my less than stellar attributes. For starters I’ll smile more. and have a shot or two or whiskey when the reflection in the mirror scares me to death.