I love you Mom, for the "whoremoans."

That never fails to tickle me. I start to giggle, which upsets the cat and that's funny, and then the whole business spirals out of control. W looks over and is all "what?" and there I am, hunched over, snorting "whoremoans, WHORE MOANS, hormones."

W: What?
Meeps: Whoremoans! *continues to chortle and repeat the word "hormones," without giving any indication as to the clever change in spelling, ie: humor*
W: Yeah. Okay, sweetie, you're really scaring the cat now.
Meeps: WHOREMOANS! Teeheehee!

Mom, as usual, you have rendered me innane. You always said that someday you would get me back for all the wicked things that I did as a child, someday you'd make me look like a doof in front of somebody I wanted to impress, someday. And now, you see? You've done it! From thousands of miles away! Over the internets!

Today, this helpless goofiness is my gift to you. It is proof that you have mothered vindictively, and exceptionally well. That gift, plus the fact that I'm coming home! Yay! With the W! And, you know. All the chi. Give Ken a hug for me. I miss you guys, and I love you very much.