Family gathering at the parental abode at the weekend. I had a two-day-old tattoo that was still being cling-filmed. The film was slipping.
I asked my dad if he had any masking tape.
What for, he asked.
Just to tape this, I said, vaguely indicating the tattoo.
No masking tape, he said, but I can find the staple gun if you like.
For context, this is body modification number eleven. When he found out about the first, he threatened me with a pair of pliers and physically assaulted me. The bruise took weeks to fade. I was fifteen. He's made "jokes" about every one since.
AIBU to think, given the history, that these jokes really aren't funny, and to find them actually slightly threatening?