Hi Honey, it’s Mom. Remember that local Italian restaurant we went to for dinner ten years ago? The new chef who only moved to town recently got his hand caught in the meat slicer and they had to close down temporarily. Awful! I knew you’d want to hear right away.
Hi Honey, it’s Mom. I found this sweet photo of you and me from the old public pool, look at your adorable smile! This was right before that whole thing with the pesticides from the golf course backing up into the water and scalding all those children. Here are some photos of them too.
Hi Honey, it’s Mom. We’ve been having nonstop rainy weather, yuck! Was fortunate here at home though and didn’t lose power. Your brother’s middle school band teacher wasn’t so lucky: a fallen tree trapped him in his basement for three days and he had to eat his whole tank of tropical fish to survive.
Hi Honey, it’s Mom. I’ve attached a Roz Chast cartoon that made me think of your “generation.” I think you’ll get a kick out of it, I sure did.
P.S. Yesterday my therapist was swallowed up by a sinkhole. But don’t worry: I wasn’t going to be able to make it to this week’s session regardless.
Hi Honey, it’s Mom. As you can probably imagine I’m thinking about you a lot today, the anniversary of the Great Chicago Fire. I’m so glad we weren’t there. Phew!
Hi Honey, it’s Mom. I can’t believe you’re almost thirty years old! I was just reminiscing about that time when you were five and the daughter of the man who sold us our first car stepped into the hot embers of her campfire at night and fell off a nearby cliff. You were
such a happy-go-lucky kid back then.
Hi Honey, it’s Mom. Sorry to write you later than usual. Things around the office have been hectic because Sandra’s uncle spontaneously combusted, but remind me next time we have a phone chat to tell you about the trash compactor incidents that have been happening at the university.
Hi Honey, it’s Mom. Remember what we discussed, about your posture and not hunching over your computer? A fuel truck overturned and exploded out on the interstate and a whole busload of chiropractors got incinerated. I clipped all their individual obituaries and had them made up into a scrapbook and overnight mailed it to you. Whenever you tell me you’re having “dark thoughts” or “feelings of doom” as you call them, I always want to tell you “sit up straight!”
Hi Honey, it’s Mom. I know you asked to “unsubscribe” from these updates, haha, but here’s some good news for once: remember the chef with the meat-slicered hand? They were able to re-attach most of his fingers. Also, he died.
Anyway, Happy Birthday!