Yesterday, I heard a cell phone ringing and assumed it was mine. I went charging across the kitchen and down the hall, up the stairs and back down again like a hyena in heat, only to discover that my stupid cell phone had been in my pocket the whole time, and it wasn't even ringing. Am I losing it?
Thanks,
Farmisht
Dear Farmisht,
That's nothing. One time I told my youngest son, as we stood in front of my car, that, "I know this looks like my car, but it isn't," to which he replied, "Mom, you're scaring me." We all get a little farmisht from time to time. Hormones, honey. Hormones. Or the lack there of. You'll know you're really losing it when you no longer give a rat's patootie that your frenemy Shirley Frumpkin stole "Best Kugel" from you at the Sherman Oaks County Fair Kugel-Off three years in a row. When such an epic shanda fails to infuriate you, you're a goner.
You're Welcome,
The SJG
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