Backstory: My mom thinks I text her too much.
Me: I need to get my northface cleaned when I get home…I got bbq sauce on it
Mom: okay, what would I need to know about that?
Me: I was eating and it got on my coat. How else would it happen?
Mom: seriously, you’re like stream of conscious texting
Me: you’re allowed to send me 14 emails a week telling me to wish on a butterfly made of semicolons and back slashes and I’m not allowed to talk about my dry cleaning?