I love Twitter. No where do I get as much writing material than I do from this one social media site. Recently I was in a discussion with a British chap and we discussed lineage. I have never contacted ancestry.com. I do not want to know my heritage, because I am afraid it will reveal a sorted history of gene mutations. I do know this, my great grandmother was full blood Cherokee, who married a man of Irish ancestry. That makes me an Irokee Okie. However, the rest of my lineage I am unsure of, as my mother’s father was adopted. He may have been German with his blond hair and blue eyes. That then would make me a Germirokee Okie. Are you getting the picture now? I don’t want to know my heritage.
My British twitter friend has a thing for Viking’s and the terror they brought upon poor Anglo/Saxons. He also mentions being surrounded by Eskimos and that I might be a Viking in disguise. Actually I think I might be part Pict because of my love for watching Braveheart and dressing up in a kilt costume for parties. That just might make me part Scottish. Heck I don’t know what I am! I have some red tint to my hair, and was born with blue eyes, which are now brownish-green. OMG – I am a mutant! I now believe in ancient aliens. Prometheus was a documentary, not a science fiction flick. Which means I am mutated alien. DNA is sure a nasty prankster.
If you ask me about my heritage, I won’t belabor the point as I have above. You’d need therapy thereafter because you’d start questioning your own heritage and find out your mother was a hamster and your father an elderberry, and that you came from the isle of hamberry. To keep you from going insane, I’ll just let you know I am a mutt born in Texas, now living in Oklahoma. Oklahoma is next to Arkansas where DNA testing has proved impossible and the term “kissing cousins”, well, I won’t go there, as that creates a new species – mutated mutts.