Last night everyone was my mom.
When I dragged my carcass home from work, our self-appointed building manager advised me not to take a shower because “there’s a man on the roof!”. My bathroom is nowhere near the roof, and I live on the third floor of a 4-storey building .. so the warning made absolutely no sense, and I used a great deal of my remaining brain power to try and figure it out (to no avail).
As I settled myself on the couch for an evening of misery and intestinal discomfort, Ed flopped onto the love seat and tried to turned on the hockey game. This is when things got even more mom-like, as Ed gave voice to his internal monologue: “Why isn’t the TV working? … Ohh, the window is open!”.
Why is everyone my mom.
Stop talking in non-sequiturs. Only I may do that, as it is an inherited trait.
I am sick and it is not fair that people are not making sense at me all over my brain face.
Sooooo sick! *blergh* :(