So it’s near midnight on a Sunday and I’m trying to finish the project I didn’t finish Friday night that HAS to be done like ASAP.


So Mom likes a certain peppermint laxative tea from Target. I call it Poopermint.

(I’ll let that sink in for a second.)

So she’s had like a million mini-strokes, right? And she just got out of bed and disturbed my concentration to tell me …

“The next time we go to Poopermint, I need more Target tea.”

She of course has no idea what she just said. But I’m too weak from laughter to keep reading what’s on my screen.

It’s pretty bad when she makes more sense than my paid writers. Which, she really does …

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