I am all for telling parents what they want to hear when its none of their damn business anyway. (Particularly if they are far far away).
And I'm all for telling them those things well after a situation has relaxed a bit.
Exhibit A: I waited until I went to college to have sex so this would not be a family topic. Got to start all that in privacy. Years later acknowledged it.
A commemorative PLATE? Oh dear.
A commemorative PLATE?
Okay, that's horrific, and hysterical.
Do you stil have the plate, JZ?
The most notable thing about me starting my period was that it was very late--but just in time. Mere days before my appointment with a developmental specialist to find out what the hell was wrong with me.
A commemorative PLATE?
I have to know: was it red?
I have to know: was it red?
No. But it had a pussy on it. It was at least a dark and arty cat plate, not an Umbridgesque kitten plate.
I might still have it. I don't know. I'm afraid to look.
And, in much nicer news,
Happy Birthday, Deena!
Oh my Jesus, JZ.
Fred, that's an excellent point. Not that I think it was meant in that sense, but it's a good reminder of places where it's good to be more exact in our language.
...And while I was writing that post my little sister called and started telling me about things she bought at a sex shop last night. NOT LISTENING.