So I was talking to my mother about this new blog of mine. I sent her the address the other night and she read the whole thing. She started talking about reading my posts on the word thing I do in my head. The following conversation then happened (more or less):
Mom: You’re weird. That word stuff? Weird.
Me: So? I explained it as best as I could. You didn’t understand it?
Mom: No, it made me weary. Reading that made me exhausted. You’re so weird!
Me: Well it makes sense to me! I think it makes perfect sense.
Mom: Yeah, now that you’ve gone to school for it.
Me: No, it made sense before that. I always noticed stuff like that.
Mom: Are you like Rainman or something? What about those other word people you go to school with? Talk to them about it.
Me: They don’t get it either. I wish I could find someone else who does the same thing.
Mom: When you do, do not mate with that person, because you’ll have, like, fish or something
This, readers, epitomizes my mother. Because I’ll give birth to like, fish or something. Obviously. And as Heather can tell you, those fish won’t have teeth. Unless they’re big, dangerous, or both.