Motherhussy

“Never get into emotionally charged political conversations on the internet—or off of the internet for that matter.”

To correct the situation, I say:

"Si se puede!"

There. Now everything is better. On to issues more important than immigration reform, like oral hygiene.

The other night as I kissed Anthony good-night, my lips were lingering over his ready to plant one on him, and I caught a whiff of something disturbing. My nose recoiled in horror! What was that smell? I knew what that smell was. It was the smell of someone who hasn’t brushed their teeth since the morning, and in the meantime ate something dead that had onions or garlic on it, and then rinsed repeatedly with something sweet and sugary. It was ill. So gently, so as not to shatter his fragile ego, I said, “Honey, did you brush your teeth yet? They smell like corpse.” Anthony, of course, got defensive.

“You’re the one with the bad breath,” he skulked.

I told him that although my breath may not be pleasant, it sure as heck doesn’t smell like I’ve been chewing on a piece of pooh.

“It smells like I’ve been chewing on pooh, huh? How could I chew on pooh? It’s not like pooh is something you can just sit there and gnaw on. It would be more likely that I was eating pooh, not chewing on it.”

Once again, I was put in my place. Rendered retarded, if you will. I think it’s my lack of a college degree or something, but I keep setting myself up to look foolish. Or, I could look on the bright side and be happy about the fact that I am surrounded by those who are of superior intelligence. I guess I need to finish my education before going into debates about immigration—or matters of consuming pooh.

End of Transmission.