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!?!?!?
Fruitbat: furbutt
BrotherDear: what?!
Fruitbat: cairn
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!
15 comments:
You can run, but you can't hide from hereditary.
Oh my god, that's the most hilarious thing ever.
Rob Wise? Like, the director of The Sound of Music? That's about as random as you can get.
Oh, and as soon as I start covering household items with dish towels to prevent them from collecting dust, you can start worrying about me as well.
That's half your genetic material right there, baby.
Heh heh heh.
My mother is the queen of phonecalls to my mobile that start with me saying 'Mum, sweetheart, this isn't a good time, I'm at work/ on a very noisy bus/ dripping wet with shampoo in my hair/ getting ready to leave,' and finish 47 minutes later after a meander through her shopping lists, my sister's endlessly disintegrating marriage, my other sister's ditzy whatever, my niece's latest adorable antic, why I should take flaxseed DESPITE the discussion we had last time and the time before that about the unfortunate oestrogenic effects of flaxseed on PCOS, aaaand eventually onto the can I do her a massive favour? moment. Answer, usually no, because I have a job, and classes, and live over an hour away by train, and nipping out this afternoon to pick up a parcel for her from her local post-office because she's going to Switzerland is not going to work.
And breathe. Because I know that I will turn into her sooner or later.
'PROSTRATE' made me snigger. Sorry, but it did.
Ooh, look, there's another May. Hello other May!
What a completly odd conversation, but I can so see having one like that with my mom. Cell phone conversations are always interesting, too, what with the occasional fuzziness and delays. Gotta love random old people!
Buwahahaha! That's awesome.
You're doomed.
Is this aunt flo? heh, heh.
Oh, I so needed that laugh today. My mom was always writing emails using copious capitals until I told her what doing that actually meant.
cOWs witH SoCKs! AARdvarK!
Awesome.
Hilarious. But also a wee tad scary...
Umm, well, at least she's colorful? Good for a laugh? Something? I'm glad you can laugh when faced with the crazies, rather than the opposite.
LOL! That is hysterical. Your mom and my mom would get along great. Like twins with a secret language.
Ha ha! Reminds me of the Tony Soprano who once said "I'm prostate with grief."
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