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Tuesday, December 16, 2003


It was my father's birthday today. (And there was much rejoicing throughout the land.) My mother, in a surprising grasp of wit, purchased a card that read,

If I could speak French, the language of love, I would say to you,
"Mon ami,
fwah
fwah fwah la plume fwah fwah mwah,
mon cheri!"

And all I could think was, "Yes!"

(It's Fruits Basket humour. Humour me, please.)

And then she completely ruined my moment of mental comedy with unceasing comments about the six-inch meringue mushrooms on the Buche de Noel (more like a Buche d'Anniversaire in this instance, but I digress). She seemed to think that repeatedly calling them minarets was choice humour, because "who knew that the Arabs made 'booshes'? (Hyuk, hyuk.)".

Yes, mother, they're six-inch-tall minarets. And if you look closely, you can see the Smurfs worshipping dilligently inside.

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