I’m not adopted

It’s official.

Of course, there was never any doubt that I am my mother’s daughter — we’re similarly and ridiculously brain-dead.

I gave her a quick call this morning to check in — I’d had a meltdown on the phone yesterday, and I had to hang up when I almost crashed my car into Popeye’s drive-thru window. So we’re chatting and I hear her rustling around and cursing under her breath. I asked her what the hell was going on, and she said, “Damn it — I can’t find my cell phone!”

I said, “Uh, Mom — what did I call you on?”


She asked me not to tell anyone about that. So it’s between you, me and the blogosphere now. 😉 (I admit, I lose my glasses for hours at a time, only to pass by a mirror and see them on top of my head ’cause I’m too vain to keep them on my face. LOL)

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