I woke up to my mom vacuuming the other morning. Long gone are the days when the ol' parental units tip toe around to prolong the peaceful quite parents with little ones only have the luxury of experiencing while their children are sleeping. I lay still, begging the band marching in my head to give it a rest. My liver, Billy, is not impressed. That's right. A hangover. Knowing the only thing that's going to help is four ibuprofen and an entire bottle of Ruby Mountain Spring Water, I drag my sorry ass out of bed and head upstairs. Slowly crawling to the top, I hear (be mindful the vacuum is still running) "Oh, yeah!?! Take that, bitch!" I see my mom flailing her Dyson around in the air like a sword. "Get over here, motherfuckas!" Not sure exactly what is happening, I blurt, "Mom. What the hell are you doing?" She jumps back startled, then shuts of her vacuum. "Oh, sis. I didn't see you there." I smile, "What's goin' on Mom?" She says, "Not much, just vacuuming up flies."
Haha. I bet those flies never even saw it coming. I sure didn't.
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