Sundays are pretty boring around here, which makes for great conversations. If you ever want to know how really demented we are, stop by on a Sunday afternoon.
My mom called today and wanted to know how the kids did in soccer this weekend. I was explaining how badly Ryan's team got spanked. "Mom, their team had a kid with a beard." (They're in the 13-15 group, by the way.) "A BEARD??? No way!!!! Although that could be Ryan if he didn't shave." I said, "No, Ryan only has a few straggly little hairs on his chin. If he didn't shave, he would be a Mexican or a porn star." "TRISHA! You can't say that about your own son!!!" I said, "Why not?? What parent wouldn't be proud of their son for being a porn star?"
I asked Jay. "Don't all men want their sons to be porn stars?" He says, "No, they want their wives to be porn stars." My mom, disgusted by all of this, says, "I can't believe you guys are talking about this. He's LITTLE." I said, "Well then obviously he can't be in a porn. They don't go for little in those." This caused her to make a really freaky screechy sound in my ear on the phone, and now I'm pretty sure she's gonna turn me in again to the Mormon missionaries hit list.
Queen of my own Magic Kingdom, full of all the irreverent, obnoxious, and sometimes offensive sarcasm you know and love. I don't care what people think of me, but I do care if you like my blog. Read, forward, repeat.
