Monday, August 22, 2011
A letter to my son
Please consider yourself very fortunate that you inherited genetics which would assemble in such a way as to provide you with a ridiculously cute face.
Were it not for that, my darling son, I do believe at this very minute you might not be alive.
You see, Chase, your Mama saved all her bad TV watching until such time as you were back in school. Not wanting to take away precious time spent with you this summer, Mama selflessly gave up her Bravo Housewives, her TLC Sister Wives, and her I'm-Really-Too-Crazy-To-Be-Believed-Jeff Lewis.
And this week, after you went back to school, Mama sat down to edit pictures with her beloved trash TV in the background. What Mama discovered was, tragically, that the DVR was full.
And not full of the trashy TV Mama likes, either.
IT WAS CHOCK-FULL OF THE SHARK WEEK.
Rest assured that the scream heard 'round the world at approximately ten thirty a.m. last Wednesday was me. And while I am proud as punch of your quest for knowledge, I must question the need for all 900 hours of shark-related television programming. Surely four or five hours would have sufficed?
Know this, sweet boy, should you ever entertain the idea of deleting ANY of Mama's shows from the DVR again, you will most certainly not make it to your next birthday.
And since I know how fond you are of birthdays in general, I suggest not touching the Mama's DVR.
All my love,
P.S. Please also remember to wear the deodorant. I hear sharks are attracted to B.O.