Don’t you hate it when your daughter who recently flew the coop and now lives 1,200 miles away, butt dials you and all you hear is static and voices…
And your mom sense automatically assumes she’s dialing you from under the bed where she’s hiding from kidnappers and you’re actually Liam Neeson?
Dammit. I hate that.
Lucky for her she diligently answered my return call or she would’ve been totally grounded… forever.
*I’m pretty sure you have full authority to ground them until they turn like 90 or 100.
Nine months of uterine rent is expensive.
The good news- I had chocolate peanutbutter icecream. (Spelled MY way)
For the record- alcohol can’t touch chocolate peanutbutter icecream.
Also, I’m not skinny.
Note- This has been an Extreme Mom PWEEP. That’s a misfit jumble of words that’s too winded to be a tweet, yet not quite robust enough to be considered a worthy post. It just is..