I love my mom, but she has this idea that I'm in love with ducks. A couple of years ago she got me a rubber duck and said, "Hey I know you likes these, so I got you one." I have never said I like rubber ducks. I mean I like rubber ducks just like anybody else, but its more of a quiet, platonic like. She keeps on getting me rubber ducks though - I have a devil duck, an astronaut duck, a cowboy duck, a gladiator duck (my personal favorite), etc etc. In all, I have about 25 of them, including an oversized one that is probably a foot and a half long.
And it hasn't stopped there. Now she buys me anything that has to do with ducks, including ducks that make noises and walk and things like that. I sit awake at night thinking that one day I'm going to open my door and see a flock of ducks waddle in.
But the sad thing is, now I actually collect the ducks. People buy them for me now, and every once in a while I'll buy one on my own (I recently bought a small blue one that lights up). So now my mom has turned a percieved hobby into an actual hobby. I guess it was her plan the whole time.
1 comment:
you should end your blog with:
"got to go-need to be fierce"(that fucking christian from project runway stole that from me)
"ack ack-sorry that's me coughing up some more bullshit for you guys to read"
"hates it"-loves it is already taken by paris hilton, so says wikipedia
"i'm a jew that eats pork sandwiches"
just some suggestions. xx.A.
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