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Thursday, September 23, 2010

I may be dying from a Victorian - and appropriately tragic - disease... like scurvy

So I bring you some randomness. This is an actual, honest-to-God conversation that I had today, with The Nancarita. And you wonder where I get it from:

Warning: I mention "tragedy," "appropriately" and chaise lounges about 150,456 times. It's because I absolutely REFUSE to be suffering from something as common as a cold. Because that wouldn't be tragic... or appropriate... enough.

 Me: Speaking of shocking, in case you were not aware, I am dying. From something appropriately tragic 
The Nancarita: What a coincidence!  I, too, am dying of something appropriately tragic.  I'm spending my days in bed.  I've discovered that I really like spending my days in bed.
 Me: Maybe I'm having a symbiotic response to your dying. And it will be all Little Women and stuff... except that wasn't very Victorian.
Me: And damn you, BTW, for dying. Now I can't whine and beg and plead for you to watch The Trolls tomorrow.
The Nancarita: Of course you can!  There's nothing about my dying that precludes me spending time with my angels.  I'll just enconse myself on the couch rather than my bed.  I'll make The Monkey bring me peppermint puffy candy.  It'll be fun.
Me: The Nugget will gladly do your laundry, too (no. Really. He will... he likes it)
 The Nancarita: I'm liking this plan better and better.  And yes... I've noticed that he likes laundry.  He's fascinated with our washer.  He likes to measure the laundry products for me.  It's adorable.  He even helps me sort the laundry.
 Me: AND he loves doing dishes. I don't know whose son he is, but he's not mine.
 The Nancarita: He's my grandson.
Me: I reward The Nuggets's good behavior at school with laundry and dishes. He couldn't be happier.
Have I mentioned how much I love my trolls? Because, fo'real, it's insane the love I feel.
 The Nancarita: I loves me some grandsons, too.  And I MISS them.  It's really pissing me off that your life is interfering with my grandson time.
Me: LOL! My life is interfering with your grandson time? What life? I sit at home and mourn my youth while simultaneously amusing myself by making my children do chores.
The Nancarita: I just ate about a hundred puffy peppermints and now have to slip quietly into a sugar coma.
Me: ROFL! Oh, look! You're being all tragic, too. That is fabulous!
The Nancarita: Aw, fuck.  No sugar coma.  I have to give The Sister a ride.  Well.. I don't HAVE to, but I can't think of a single good reason not to (other than preferring the whole tragic coma from puffy peppermint idea), so I need to go find a clean bra.
 The Nancarita: And, bee-tee-double-yew, do you not totally love the notion of a puffy-peppermint-induced coma?
 Me: I love it so much, that I am now officially dying from a puffy-peppermint-induced coma. Tragically.
 The Nancarita: Don't you need to actually eat some puffy peppermints first?  I'm not an expert or anything, but I'm pretty sure that you can't die from the mere *idea* of puffy peppermint.
 The Nancarita: Also... I fully expect to see some of this conversation on the wall of instant message infamy on your blog.
Me: You absolutely can die from the IDEA of eating puffy peppermint!! It happens ALL. THE. TIME.
Me: I will post this on my blog. Why? Because it amuses me so.
 The Nancarita: I have GOT to get out more.
 Me: I've also decided that I need one of those chaise lounge-thingies so that I can die tragically and appropriately.


Edit: The Nancarita seems to think that excerpting a conversation exactly how it took place needs to be cleaned up and refined before you post it, and so she asked me to edit this post. So I am... in my own way.

The Nancarita: Me: You absolutely can die from the IDEA of eating puffy peppermint!! It happens ALL. THE. TIME.
 The Nancarita: Really?  I have GOT to get out more.
 Me: I've also decided that I need one of those chaise lounge-thingies so that I can die tragically and appropriately.
 The Nancarita: Edit the existing as precedes.
 The Nancarita: Also, I would have wound up that discussion with "And let's not forget the whole LIVING tragically and appropriately -- or at least *lounging* that way."
Me: Oh nononono... there will be no editing. Well, NOW I might edit, but only to include this part of the conversation as the postscript.
 

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