That’s what she said

Oh, my stream of consciousness gets fun sometimes. If people only knew what I was thinking half the time, I’d probably be committed. As if that weren’t bad enough, the 12-year-old boy that lives inside my head constantly punctuates my daily conversations with “that’s what she said.”

If that weren’t bad enough, I think I may have finally scarred my teenage son for life. At least five times a day, I say something that has him rolling his eyes and muttering, “You’re so disturbing.” So I try to hold back, especially the “that’s what she said” comments. Really, I do. But it’s hard. And I can’t be responsible for my brain before coffee.

This morning when we were walking out the door, he grabbed his trumpet and said, “I can’t be late for band. It’s greasing and lubing day.”

. . .

Come on! You can’t lay a comment like that in my lap and expect me not to pick it up. I started giggling before the response even came out of my mouth, and that garnered me an eyeroll and an, “Ohmygod! Seriously?”

Yes, seriously.


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