"Hi Dad, You know what? Mom got some new boots today and they don't fit. Yeah. Oh, it's me Dad, *Mila*. So, she's going to have to bring them back and get a new pair that fit her. And she said they are too big for her. And they are too big for me. Heh, heh. So I know that they are too small for your big ginormous feet."
She leaves *Steve* messages on his answering machine at work. It's classic. And now she sneaks off with the phone and presses the speed dial number and calls him and rats me out. The other day I heard some beeping and tried to mind my own business and not be dominant mother. I guess she called *Steve* three times. The first call I knew about. It went like this:
Call #1
"Dad! Did you eat all the party mix? I think you ate all the party mix. So, get me some party mix on the way home. Okay? Bye."
Call #2
"Dad. Mom said that the party is cancelled. But I am SO having a party. Oh and Dad, can you get some party mix? Don't forget, okay?"
Call #3
"Dad, It's me *Mila*. Did you get the party mix? Because I know you ate the party mix. So, could you pick up some party mix on your way home? Thanks Dad, I love ya!"
Note to self: Why I married *Steve*, he didn't fall for this one - the Man Stroke Woman from bbc3
signed, the willow
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