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Wednesday, March 18, 2009

When I need comic relief, I text him...

Yesterday, 6:20am:

My bro: Happy St. Patrick's Day, my sistah. Time to get to drinking.

Me: Dude, it's 6am. If you want to live to drink, leave me alone.


My bro: Now it's beer time.

Me: Enjoy! Have one for me. Or maybe two.

My bro: Or 4?

Me: Just remember where you live and you will be good.

My bro: I will. Plus, I have to work at 6am.


My bro: What r u up tooo irish woman?

Me: Dude, we ain't Irish. We're Polish, remember?

My bro: On dad's side yes we are. We have to be. I have a red beard yo.

Me: Good point.

My bro: We're both ginger daywalkers (WTF? Seriously, no clue.) how can we not b irish?

My bro: Plus I love whiskey. hehe

Me: Whiskey isn't green beer.

My bro: It's irish whiskey. It's all good as long as you think green thoughts while yoo drink.

Me: Allrighty then. Have fun. BE SAFE.


Me: How many fingers am I holding up, sir?

My bro: 12. at least.

Me: Yep, you are correct.

My bro: Thanks ossifer. U have a good afternunn.

Me: No driving, K?

My bro: Am home. Bar is block from my hommme. Walked home. Only hit one car.

Me: Cool. Night then.

My bro: Night to you two.


Kate Coveny Hood said...

This is adorable!

But all of that texting sounds tiring. My fingers would hurt. But that may be connected to the iphone touch screen. Still not used to it. My fingers cramp up.