Sometimes I really wonder if my parents like me at all.

   The other day I got home from Bible study and realized that I needed to wash my company shirt for casual Friday. The rule for casual Friday is that you can only wear jeans if you’re wearing a shirt with the company logo on it. I have three, but all of them were dirty. Gathering up some like colored clothes I decided to throw a load of laundry in the washing machine.

    You should keep in mind that it was 9:30 at night. I was getting ready for bed while doing the laundry so my hair was wild and flying about in an untamed manner and I was wearing an ill-fitting tank top and oversized pajama pants. On my feet I wore my cozy bunny slippers that I got for Christmas.

    When I went to throw my laundry into the machine, I noticed that my mother already had her jeans in the wash. She was in the office finishing some work, so in my ranky outfit with my laundry resting on my hip,  I stalked into the office and the following conversation ensued:

    Me: Mom, how long are your jeans going to be in the wash?

   Mom: About an hour.

   Dad: (eyeing my outfit and hair) Carol, can you picture Gyasi as somebody’s wife?

   (pause as the two of them survey my attire)


    Instead of fighting my inevitable spinsterhood, I’m just ging to lay my weapons down and start adopting cats from the local shelter.

   I’m going to give them hoity-toity names like Alastair and Sir Nicholas de Mimsy Porpington.

    Crazy cat lady, that’s my future people.


    I figured you were.