When I was younger our (one and only) computer was located in an alcove at the top of the stairs, right outside what was once my bedroom. (The computer, or one that replaced it, is in the same place but my old room is now Mother Dearest’s craft room.) Mother Dearest would often use the computer at night while I was trying to sleep, so I learned to ignore the sounds of keystrokes and cursing that accompanied her computer usage.

One evening, as Mother Dearest was getting over a cold, she sneezed while typing. I hear the honking of a nose being blown followed by  her dulcet tones;

“Shit!”

Without thinking about it, I piped up from my bed, (which was about fifteen feet away from her)

“That’s funny – the only thing that comes out when I do that is snot.”

She laughed so hard she sneezed again.

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