Yay! Usually I write out and proofread my essays first, but hey- you know, you’re cute. I’m going to work Doug Funnie stream of consciousness for you. But only you. Shh no more words. My turn. Don’t forget to lock the door and turn the AC on high.
The other day I was necking with a honey BBQ sandwich at a fine local eating establishment, when my mother and I got to talking about weddings. Now considering that most men are repulsed by my, *belch* ‘scuse me, by my forwardness, “wedding” is a delusion from WEtv that David Tutera is going to come to my house, pay for everything, hand sew my dress, and be my BFF. However, the topic came up and it was revealed to me that my mother has been hiding money away for my wedding. I use “my wedding” loosely, as the thought of it makes me “lawlz.” Although I am terribly humbled that her sweet/naive mind envisioned me as a blushing bride, I had to tell her to please take that money and either invest in it in the scented candle business, or to buy off the waiter who just told me he liked my “rockabilly” look. Either way, that wedding fund should be making interest for the next 5-10 years, figuring I get the corrective surgery and physical therapy I need for my hunchback that has been forming since the 2nd grade, after I caught my teacher stealing SunChips out of my RugRats lunchbox. I digress. The moral of the story kids, is that your mom, dad, guardian, caretaker, or whomever, does very nice things for you, even if you don’t know. It still doesn’t change the fact you’re never getting married and that you’re a disgusting slob with Donette powder caked under her fingernails, but at least it’s nice gesture.