I got my DNA tested. Oh, I am so disappointed in my results.
Here’s where I’m from:
83% Northern Europe, 17% Ireland and Scotland. The most exotic location I can claim is Denmark. Denmark!
I’m so let down. The appeal of America is that we’re all mutts, and here I’m just a result of Britons taking the ferry to bang some Irish.
(On the plus side, I have no genetic mutations. No markers for breast cancer or any of the other diseases they test for.)
The worst part is that Gary thinks that only racists take DNA tests, and only to prove that they’re Aryan. I told him no, I was hoping for a little color coming from my father’s side. And now here I am, the product of white people who had sex exclusively with white people. (I suppose that means it was all consensual; no native brides or sex with slaves, so that’s a good thing.)
Am I sad. Yes. Am I surprised? Hah. Of course not.