It doesn't look good folks. It appears I am a mere few years away from a destiny which will designate me as the kooky lady with mad hair who lives on her own with a menagerie of dogs in the big, old rambling house. Like mother, like daughter.
An IM between my brother (bless his little cotton socks) and my crazed mother. Names have been changed to protect the insane and gossiped about.
BrotherDear: whats up
Fruitbat: I'M GETTING A FOSTER CHILD!!!!!
Fruitbat: i'M CHATTING WITH mRS. lAWSON
Fruitbat: rOB wISE HAD PROSTRATE CANCER
BrotherDear: okay you're talking a mile a minute
BrotherDear: what about a foster child!?!?!?
BrotherDear: oh, so not a real child. a dog.
The manic nature of caps and exaggerated punctuation makes this particularly entertaining for me. Please ignore her usage of "prostrate" instead of "prostate". This woman has a master's degree, but she's a bit flighty, poor soul.
I am aware that no one will find this funny but me, oh, and Cheese Hand, as she's met the crazy old bat. I just had to put it somewhere - spreading the insanity on an otherwise average Friday morning.
HAvE a GOOD WEEkEND EVERYoNe! I HAVe DuST MITEs!! FARfuLnUGGET!! FuRBUTT!