Hello readers,
So all in all, having dinner at Rebecca's was a terrible event. Her monicotti was a delicious (so proud I raised a good cook) and it was nice to see Danny, even if he only came out of his room for a few minutes to eat and run...Then things went downhill.
Rebecca and I were having a nice conversation until dessert when she started accusing me of going senile! To this I took much offense and we burst into an argument about whether or not I am capable of living alone. She say's she's worried about me, especially after reading my blog. She said that I "seem to be confusing what type of pet I have, and what shows I'm watching." "Losing my grip on reality," she said. WELL, REBECCA, I AM YOUR MOTHER AND YOU WON'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO! I am absolutely certain that Trina is a cat and I miss her very much! And as far as who's worried about whom, I am concerned with your lack of parenting skills. Just LOOK at the door to Danny's bedroom:
That looks like the door of a disturbed child. A neglected child. A misled child. And the smell, OH GOD the SMELL. It smelt like low-tide and manure emanating from that boy's room, it was almost unbearable being in that wing of the house...
Rebecca, you ought to figure out what to do with your immediate family before you try to stick me in a nursing home!
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