One reason to password-protect your palm phone
So that your teenager doesn’t pick it up and immediately see the following text message exchange:
Me: Wear the red boxers 2nite?
Me: Hubba hubba!
Joe: OK! I love you!
Little One then had to scrub her eyeballs with bleach-soaked brillo pads to erase the image of such horridness. I’m taking her to a therapist to help her work through this event.
Published by angelawd on February 5th, 2008 tagged Abnormal Motherhood
February 5th, 2008 at 1:42 pm
Oh, now that’s HILARIOUS!! Poor Little One. Better get that therapist appointment quickly.
February 5th, 2008 at 5:23 pm
AH HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!
Don’t worry, I’m screwing up my kids royally too! It’s part of motherhood!
February 5th, 2008 at 5:36 pm
Good for you! I’m sure she deserved it for something or other….
February 5th, 2008 at 7:26 pm
Bwa ha ha ha ha ha
February 6th, 2008 at 12:18 pm
Reminds me of a crack my mom once made about getting out the lasso. Ugh.
February 6th, 2008 at 11:03 pm
Ha ha … she’ll love telling that story someday!
February 15th, 2008 at 7:56 pm
Don’t worry about a therapist now. Wait until she’s all grown up and then offer to kick in on one when she actually has a full body of your evil works to have to deal with. Maybe they’ll give her a frequent crier discount or something! LOL!! ;o)
February 16th, 2008 at 11:20 am
Frequent crier! Ha ha ha!