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Guns & Books

I am worthless at communicating.  I leave important facts out, or over-communicate by telling long stories that have nothing to do with the topic at hand.  Today, when I called my mom, I discovered my poor communication skills are genetic and come from her.

“Mom what are you doing?”

“Your dad is going to the gun show.”

“Um.. I said what are YOU doing.”


“Well where are you?”

“I’m almost to Bangerter Highway.”

“Oh, where are you going?”

“Nowhere. Your dad is going to the gun show remember?”

“So then you are going to the gun show with dad?”


“Mom, you’re in the car with dad who is going to the gun show, but you’re not going. That doesn’t make sense.”

“Your dad is going to the gun show. I’m going to sit in the car and read a book.”

I usually feel like the loony one in my family, but not today. Sitting in a car, reading a book in the dead of winter sounds way crazier than anything I’m doing today. Which is nothing. So I’d better shower and go rescue my mother from a four hour wait in the car. Because, that dear Internet, is what good daughters do–they save lives. I imagine I’ll win a medal for such a brave, selfless act.


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