I asked my mom to dig out a couple of pictures of herself that a photographer friend of hers took of her when she was a bit younger. She still has very nice skin, and I think she's an attractive woman, but in 1965? Damn. Not to mention that totally fine Pekinese.
These give me a tiny amount of hope. I mean, you get half of your genes from a lady who looked like that, and I think you're probably okay. It compensates just a smidgen for the spooky-looking monster feet I got from my dad. Although I did get his able-to-change-a-tire gene, so that's cool.
I'm thinking about teaching my mom to text. It would enhance my life by 30%. Truly. I've done the calculations. Although, there's little hope since, the other day in the Apple store (I know) I showed her an iPad and she immediately asked when we were going to go look at the cutesy wootsey puppies at the pet shop.
I like my mom. She's a pretty neat lady, and I think it's kind of cute that she's only used her cell phone for thirteen minutes over the last 7 years (truth).
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