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Friday, January 31, 2014

...2 YEARS LATER...

T-minus 8 days and counting.

Mom and Dad are coming to visit for a few weeks and it appears that Mom alone will have to be here an extra three weeks. Well, alone with the kids... and Boyfriend. I am certain he has panic attacks every time I tell him stories about things my mom has put me through. I keep having to remind him that I'M her disappointment, not him. He's still off-put by the whole situation. Especially for the fact that those three extra weeks that Mom is here with Boyfriend, I won't be. That part I can explain later.

The good thing is, I'll be around for the first two weeks when both Mom and Dad are here, so it'll ease Boyfriend into things. Gotta break him in quickly. Everything's going to be just fine. I hope. As long as Dad has my back.


I'm predicting one of the two things happening while I am gone:

First, Boyfriend will run away and live out of his car until Mom leaves and he forgives me for allowing a demon into our house, or option 2, Mom will just fall madly in love with him and I'll be knocked down one more peg on Mom's list of favorites. Not that I'm complaining. I love my mom. I tease her a lot. Mostly because she rips my self esteem to shreds and then tosses it up in the air like confetti and spins around. She's really quite the life of the party.

Of course I'd much rather she love him. I mean I'd hate for him to be living out of his work vehicle for just under a month. Plus, it's really hard to sleep in a car when it's as crowded as his is. That and Mrs. McJudgerson would probably tell him he was doing it all wrong.

I know I owe an explanation as to why I'm not going to be here with Mom and Boyfriend. But it's a rather long story, and I'm the bad guy in the end. I'll save for when I'm overtired and not thinking about how much of an idiot I was. You know, like a few hours from now. I really have no shame.

Instead, let's talk about the idiot I am. I have eight days to get my house in tip top shape before THEY get here, and yet here I am, typing love letters to myself. I swear, If they gave out Nobel prizes for procrastination I'd probably keep rescheduling the ceremony.




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