Four fruits. Four!

Thank you for joining me in disbelief about this whole thousand-fruit idea. You are my kind of people. Between you and me, I happen to believe that oranges are actually small animals disguising themselves as fruits, and then when you go to peel them they uncurl and strike with their fanged wedges. I have some sketches I could share with you. If only I trusted the scanner enough to use it.

My son is at my in-laws and oh, I miss him. Is there anything more pathetic than a mother whose child is away for 48 hours and all she can talk about is how much she misses him? I will answer my own question: yes. There are more pathetic things, obviously. But this is right up there. When Henry is here I can generally be found rolling my eyes and sighing over the demands and injustices of motherhood, and now he's one state over and I'm mooning around his room, wondering if it's too soon to call him again. He could not be more tired of our phone calls.

Us: "Hey, buddy, what you up to?"

Him: "Attempting to have quality time with my grandparents, which is difficult when someone keeps calling."

Us: "… You gonna get ice cream later?"

Him: "Oh, for fuck's sake. Yes, I suppose I will get ice cream later. Shall I call you and tell you all about what toppings I got?"

Us: "Love you, too! Miss you!"

Okay, that didn't happen. I don't even know what I'm talking about. I miss my baby! What can I bitch about if my baby is not with me? Scott? Well, Scott, sure.