Just when I think I have life pretty much figured out, I'm thrown a curve. My youngest son, Hyrum, is bringing a (serious) girlfriend to meet the family next weekend. In preparation, he gave me a list of do's and don't's. (He is obviously embarrassed by his old mother.)
I took umbrage at his lack of faith in me. After all, am I so terrible? Well, there was the time when I told people that I had nursed him until he was eighteen years old (hence, my sagging breasts). Then there was the time that I showed up at school to pick him up for an appointment and had my shirt on inside out. And there was the time ...
Well, you get the picture.
The problem is, I was much younger and sharper back then, my brain was still functioning--sort of, and I still was in control of my tongue. Now, years later, I'm not nearly as young or as sharp; my brain has taken a permanent sabbatical; and my tongue gets away from me more often than not.
Maybe, instead of preparing me, Hyrum should be preparing his girlfriend!
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