This is a complete and undoctored texting conversation I had with one of my sons yesterday.
SON: When asked if he used steroids, George Brett said that his last 3 years they had a weight room and he didn't even know where it was.
ME AGAIN: Not personally. I liked his stand on immigration. He's in big trouble.
SON: George Brett is in trouble? The old KC Royal?
ME: Oops! I meant to send that to Jommy about someone Seles.
SON: OK. I'm listening to podcasts.
Fine. If you tell me that conversation makes sense to you, then I will happily arrange an appointment with an excellent psychiatrist here in town, who in turn will happily admit you for a weekend stay at Uni. BECAUSE THAT CONVERSATION DOESN'T MAKE ANY SENSE.
Here's what happened. My son texted me with the info about George Brett because both of us like random baseball tidbits. At almost the same time, my brother Jimmy texted me, asking me if I know our former AG, Mark Shurtleff, because you know me. Always hanging out with former AGs. Anyway, I texted Jimmy back--or so I thought--but as you can see I actually texted my son back.
And from there it went downhill, what with my thumbs going all crazy texting words like "Jommy" instead of "Jimmy" and "Seles" instead of else. But the best part of all is my son's response. I could see him saying to himself, "Okay. I'm going to put my phone down. Then I'm going to put my hands up in the air. Then I'm going to back away slowly from my crazy mother. And then I'm going to listen to a few podcasts. Like a normal person."