My mo-ther can't come to the blog right now. She's collapsed (yet again) into a hysterical mess of a heap over this:
As I'm sure many of you are aware, my stupid mo-ther is a self diagnosed agoraphobic with moderate to severe panic disorder....who didn't leave the house for a period of eight years.
(She says it's because she was afraid that she would break out into a flop sweat and then chatter like a circus monkey over the prospect of having normal human interaction, but I think the only reason why she played this little drama to the hilt is because she didn't have a proper bra. Or haircut.)
So now she's thrown herself across the davenport with her forearm draped across her face while she bemoans the fact that the garden has yet to be planted, the patio furniture has yet to be placed, the geraniums have yet to be positioned, and she is never going to leave the confines of her freshly shampooed Happy Chair again.
If it weren't for the fact that I abhor violence so, I would get a garden spade from the garage and dispatch this situation forthwith. As it is, I am going to have to call my Aunt Chrissy to ask her to prepare the guest quarters.
Methinks it's going to be a long summer.
I do hope that this finds you well and that things are considerably less dramatic in your corner of the world.
With much love from your pal,