Yesterday I was discussing all manner of things with my sister. Because I am to ride on a big airplane today, I brought the conversation into the direction I usually take--death.
K: You know if something happens to us, you are going to get the baby.
J: WE LOVE THE BABY. Not that we would want anything to happen to the two of you. Of course.
K: Yeah, right, thanks. But I feel like I should have some stipulations on this. You know those people that leave their dog to someone with the stipulation that the dog must get a hot dog every night for dinner. Or a brand new Burberry sweater every Christmas.
J: You want me to give the Boo a hot dog every night?
K: No, I just don't want him to turn out wacked like the rest of you. This makes me nervous.
J: OK, so what do you want? Do you want us to NOT talk about politics?
K: No, that's OK. Living with you guys is like sending the kid to Berkeley. All that liberal crap and he'll be the head of the Gymboree Republican's Club.
K: You can't nurse him.
J: What? I'm not going to do that. (acting like this is ridiculous)
K: And he can't cosleep with you and Dave from now until he is 7. No matter what he says or how kindly he asks.
J: Fine. (in a voice oozing with, "you'll be dead anyway so how would you ever know.") This is very good news. You had better watch your back, sista.
Who says that to their sister? She so likes that baby better than me.