How Not to Write an E-mail

Heya, K–

Yes, I adore that show too, do you own the second sea–

“Mom, do we have cookies tonight?”

“Yes, but not before dinner.”

“Can you cook us dinner?”

“Sure, in a second.”

“What’s for dinner?”


“Red or white?”

“White but I need to–“

“Do you want me to get the water started?”

“No, that’s fine, I’ll go–“

“Where is it, Mom?”

“In the fridge?”

“It’s not there!”

“Fine! Forget the e-mail, let me start dinner! Where’s the damned pasta?”

Well, turns out the pasta was on the refrigerator, but that’s okay. Dinner is ready, dinner is served, dinner is eaten, I’m ready to start again.

son. I actually looked up the actor of that show to see if he’s done any–

“Mom, are you going to watch TV?”

“Yeah, like ten minutes here.”

“What are we going to watch?”

“Supernatural, old episodes.”

“Do we have to?”

“YES! Now give me a minute here to–“

“It’s all queued up. Now?”

“No just wait a minute–“


“FINE! Press play.”

And we watched two episodes until Mate got home and it was time for mom to have some time in her own head, and, hopefully, finish this friendly little e-mail and then write.

thing else besides that. He apparently was on Broadway and I think the other two guys in that show should definitely–

“Mom, hugs?”

“Sure. Night. Don’t forget to brush your teeth.”

“Mom, hugs?”

“Yeah, sure. Don’t forget to put sheets on your bed, okay?”

end up together, because that’s just my head canon. But I’m usually right about stuff like that. McDanno. It should be a thing. Sterek was totally a real thing. These guys, it should be a–

“Mom, where’s the toothpaste.”

“In the cupboard.”

“I don’t see it.”

“T, could you help them find toothpaste and sheets?”

“Sure.  Are you sure it’s in here?”

“IT’S IN THERE!”  And goddammit, if these kids make me come in there to find the fucking toothpaste that I know is in the fucking cupboard I’m going to throw it at their fucking heads.


Oh crap. I said that out loud.  “Sorry, T– this was really not aimed at you. I’ve been interrupted all night.”


“No, I’m sorry. That was not aimed at you.”

“It’s okay.”

“Sorry. Swear. My bad.”

“It’s okay, Mom. No worries.”

I notice the peanut gallery has gotten quiet.

“Have we brushed our teeth?”


“You don’t have any sheets on the bed!”




*sit down*  *huff*

Anyway, what was I saying? Oh yes. I’m sorry it takes me so long to get back to your e-mails. It seems that I’m always being interrupted. What was I talking about again?

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