Cave Daddy

Not long ago I had the opportunity to nab some of my brother's DNA but I took the high road and didn't do it.

I needed it for the National Geographic genographic project, in which you send your spit to National Geographic and they extract the DNA and tell you who your great great great great etc. ancestors were. If you are female, you can get your mother's mother's mother's etc. line. If you are male, you can get either your father's father's father's etc. line, or your mother's. So my sister sent in her spit, which represented all of us, but since my brother is the only male, we need his spit to get my dad's line.

Since my brother is afraid that Pres. George Bush is personally after his spit and will use it for unholy purposes if obtained, he refused to part with any, even though Pres. Bush does not work for National Geographic. We made due with only half the family spit and discovered that our cave mom lived in northern Europe about 15,000 years ago and had many decendents, many of whom became French. I was excited to discover that I may be related to the amazingly hot President Sarkozy.

Ever since I found out that I'm French, I've been craving croissants.

I was kind of hoping that my cave daddy would be from Morocco because I love Moroccan food. But my brother who doesn't read my blog may rest assured that his spit is safe with him and I will never steal it even if he happens to fall asleep and drool while I'm in the same car with him.