Monday morning conversation with youngest son as he leaves for work.
Me: “Don’t forget to call that guy today. I told him you would and if you don’t, it will make me look like a raving lunatic.”
Son: (pauses while untangling his iPod wires, glances over at me and states calmly)
“Mom, you are a raving lunatic.”
My immediate response – denial – is fleeting and dies a natural death. Mea culpa.
Me: “Okay, so, just because I am a raving lunatic doesn’t mean I want to look like one.”
Boys can be brutal.
I shall embrace my lunacy.
And I resist the urge to tell him it’s hereditary and/or catching. Each of my sons is exhibiting the signs. Makes for some delightful and amusing times together.