a short story

I have a lot of thoughts swirling tonight, but most importantly, I wanted to share a short story with you, my dear readers.

You know how this winter is super cool? I mean, it’s uncool. I mean, I hate this winter. I’ll put it this way. If you live anywhere near outside of Florida, you know what I mean. Anyway, I told some girlfriends yesterday that I was moving somewhere tropical, but it would be a few years out because it would depend on the tropical locale in which Connor chooses to go to college. Or university. Or whatever they call it in said tropical locale.  To be a doctor.

He came home last night and was sitting on the couch being all cute and I shared my future plans with him. Strangely, he was not picking up what I was throwing down.

Me: Well, you know how you’re going to go to college someday, right? My dearest, that is actually not a question. You WILL be going to college. 

CJ: Yeah.

Me: I guess what I’m saying is that I’ll be moving to wherever you decide to go to college.

CJ: Mom … wouldn’t that be kind of creepy?

Me: *gasping* Wha? No! I’m sure other moms have done that.

CJ: Well, when you go to college can you still see your mom and dad everyday?

Me: It depends on how far away you go. That’s why I’m suggesting I just move there, too. Then you won’t even have to worry about silly stuff like that.

CJ: Yeah, I’d be like in class and you’d walk in and I’d be like, ‘Mom, what are you doing here?’ *changing to high-pitched voice* ‘Oh here son, I made you cookies.’

Me: *laughing because he’s hilarious* Yep. See how that’s not creepy at all?

Little does he know, I’m totally fine with being that creepy mom and that despite the move, I still wouldn’t bake.

letters to the editor

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.