And The Clocks Were Striking Thirteen (_redpanda_) wrote in metaquotes,
And The Clocks Were Striking Thirteen

At dinner I expressed my desire for cookies, so afterwards my mother, brother and I piled into a car to fetch dessert. Just as we were leaving, she turned to my brother and said, "This is going to sound really weird, but can you go get me my pruning scissors?" Mike shrugged and grabbed them, and we backed out of the driveway, with me wondering just what was so weird about wanting pruning scissors, exactly? Then we stopped alongside Bridget Ward's house. Cackling like a madwoman, my mother snatched the scissors, shot from the driver's seat, and attacked some poor shadowy plant on the front lawn with them. Then she calmly re-entered the car, settled into her seat, and drove off, perfectly pleased with herself.

Allow me to sum this up for you. My mother is not just anal. My mother is so anal that she prunes other people's unsuspecting plants in the dead of night.

This story is so totally going in what I am sure will be my kooky and touching autobiographical novel, a la David Sedaris, as an explanation for why I am INSANE.

-- cheeriomonkey
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