Apparently my illness is stirring up the ranks

Dixie: Mommy, how old are you going to be when you die?
Mommy: Very old. Probably 100.
Dixie, bringing me a calendar: On which day are you going to die? This one?
Mommy: Yes. January 10th.

***days later***

Melody: Mommy, when you die, do I get a new mommy?
Mommy: Yes, maybe. But she'll be a stepmother, and probably wicked.
Melody: But then I can be Cinderella?
Mommy: Yes. Lots of cleaning and misery. And I feel that I should warn you that there is a severe shortage of fairy godmothers in the Central Texas Region. They aren't finding all that many handsome princes or glass slippers, either.
Melody: But why?
Mommy: It is like most of the other jobs--NAFTA moved them all south of the border. Between that and the unionization of sewing mice, well, I just wouldn't count on it working out for you like it did for her.


Anonymous said...

Cannot even begin to convey how much this post amused me. Helps when I am up for the upteenth night in a row until all hours (even though it is only nine now) doing school paperwork while trying to wrestle a two year old to sleep.

Glad to hear everything is getting settled. "Status quo" and "grind" are words I have come to appreciate with great zest as I have entered my thirties.

Keep blogging! :-)

Unknown said...

LMAO. Did you tell her there will be no inheritance?

Deb said...

NAFTA. *snicker*