him: will you at least act normal when my folks get here
me: *flipping a pancake and reading it like a tarot card* bad news
me: *flipping a pancake and reading it like a tarot card* bad news
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with raisin or chocolate chip eyes, and house tradition was that the kids would all scream on behalf of the bunny when it got flipped over and saw the frying pan coming.
Usually early on Sunday morning after a party with lots of guests sleeping over.
Within a minute I was like really? Wait till you meet mine.
I loved her mother. & mine was by then well past quirky, even in my eyes.