While choosing a sweater, Mrs. Rodius asked me if I liked the orange one. I said no, I didn't. She asked which one I liked better. I said the yellow one. She explained that yellow does not go with her skin tone. I told her I thought it was funny how she asks my opinion about these things and then explains why I'm wrong. She said she doesn't tell me I'm wrong, but in this particular case, I WAS wrong.
Later, at home, she embarked on a lengthier explanation of clothing color and skin tone and hair color and which one goes with the something and the other thing. I was trying to pay attention. Well, actually I was trying to look like I was paying attention while I tried to listen to Edward Norton telling me about Strange Days on Planet Earth. At some point during her explanation, I laid my head back, closed my eyes, and snored.
First she said she was going to tell her mama on me. I pointed out that her mother loves me. Then she said she was going to tell MY mama on me. But then she got it: she said she was going to go on my blog and write a post about what a fucktard I am. So I figured I'd better beat her to it.
I love you, honey!
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