I think I need a ranch style house. This way I don't have to go up/down the stairs half a dozen times because I can not remember what I went up/down to get.
Also, I'm turning into my mother. Only not the part where everyone loves me or I can bake a killer pie. One of my daughters already cringes when we say the same exact thing at the same exact time. And let's face it, we all know what that means.
At dinner a week ago that same daughter lamented (with my other children) for a good ten minutes, with demonstrations from a dissected paper from a straw, about how I cursed them with short legs and looong torsos. This is why we take them to steakhouses. To hear about their bad luck in the gene pool.
I am apparently to old to operate my oh-so-cool new devices. This was evidenced this weekend when I thought I ended my call. Instead I left a somewhat long, fairly raunchy voice mail for my my cousin-in-law.
If you can think of other ways I can prove your superiority, just leave them in the comments and I'll be sure to give them consideration. I can not promise I will remember to do anything about it. Especially if it involves going up or down stairs.