I'm losing my grip on the big, broad, flexible outlook. Going nutso because daughter The Heir is going to college ... 45 miles of grueling freeway from my door.
See? There I go again! I'm driving The Heir crazy.
Just now I told her not to play her musical saw in public, because some serial killer might see her and befriend her and saw her to pieces.
If you have unused sedatives in your medicine cabinet, please send them to me. I'm acting like a kid who's about to be deprived of her blankie.
The Heir is taking a poetry class at college. For the love of fruit flies, if she keeps up that sort of thing, she'll be back under my roof in four years, drinking my TaB Cola and eating all my Hershey bars. So what's the big deal?
There I go again! She might be the next Sylvia Plath ... Ann Sexton ... someone please call the authorities, Anne has lost the few marbles she owned!
Yeah, and I still have daughter The Spare at home. I've been cleaning her room today, while she's out of town. You would too if your kid's room looked like this.
Anne. Get a grip. Stiff upper lip. Pip pip! Hey, Spare! Spare! Are you under there? Come and say farewell to The Heir!