More Evidence

My sister, Michele, is a lady.

She has always been a lady. Michele lectures me on my indiscriminate use of profanity and potty humor. She is not amused, most of the time, and wishes I would conduct myself in a manner more befitting a wife and mother.

Fat f*cking chance.

Therefore, imagine my surprise upon opening her latest care package to my children. At first, all was right with the world. Chocolate? Check. Bubbles in little containers resembling cute and adorable jack o’ lanterns? Check. Noise Putty? Check.

Wait a minute. Noise Putty? Upon further examination, noise putty turned out to be like silly putty except it makes noises. What kind of noises? I’ll give you a hint. The container is shaped like a toilet.

I played the role of slightly-disgusted mother while trying not to laugh at what my oldest calls “the tooter”. Gotta love fart jokes.

Best part of all? Calling my mother and telling her the good news: Her perfect daughter joined the dark side. (Noreen’s disappointed reaction made my day: “I expect this from you. But Michele?”) Pretty soon Michi will be downing tequila, flirting shamelessly, and showing strangers her belly button.

Welcome to the dollhouse.