PLAGUE

Missionary son was cursed with a plague last week~a plague based on the amount of times he's washed his Brazil infested sheets over the past few months. He wouldn't say what that number was~or even if it existed~just that he's learned his blistered, oozing, open sore rash lesson and won't soon repeat this error. Sometimes that's what it takes, you know.

I myself prefer to learn through YOUR mistakes, people. And let's face it~you've given me pleeeeeeeenty of opportunities to do so. So thank you, from the bottom of my no-fail-fudge heart.

Speaking of fudge, I still haven't received a call from the "You profess this is your actual weight? Really? And you're stickin' with that, are ya now?" life insurance premium nurse (tattle-tell). And remember when I said it might just be the catalyst to BECOME what I said I already WAS? You 'member that? Yeah, well, not so much. Which brings us back to fudge. Draw your own conclusions.

Anyway, keep on fumbling your way through life and I'll keep using you as an example of what not to do~because the more people who can benefit from your imperfections, the more worthwhile you become.

You're kind of like a donor.

A mistake donor.

And that right there is a very noble cause. To screw up your own life, that others might not. So hat in hand, we thank you.

(And by 'we' I mean 'me'...cuz I think all the 'others' I'm speaking of are just as bass-ackwards as you. But I didn't want to sound all judgmental, so I feigned humility and included them.)

Are those flaming torches and pitchforks in the distance? Huh. Weird.