He saw the mudders’ lament…

Yesterday Corrie Ann calls me at work, giggling, to tell me to expect an email from The Boy. Up until now his email address has been little more than an alias for Corrie Ann’s, but now he has a fully functioning email address of his own. That wasn’t why she was giggling, though. See, The Boy was being very careful about composing this email. He’s a good little geek and knows that an email is your public face and those who read it will make judgments about you based on how it’s composed and formatted, just like a snail mail letter: he would type a word, place his index finger at the end of the word, space over until he could see the cursor, and begin typing the next word.

*snort-laugh*

For those of you who don’t remember learning to write, this is how they instruct the students to judge proper word spacing … when you’re writing by hand on that special lined paper with the two solid lines and the dotted line running between them. He just wanted to make sure his email looked perfect for daddy.

In other completely unrelated news, I think I want to learn to knit. I keep seeing all these cool patterns for beanies and toboggans and such … a friend of mine (I’m talking about you, Cameron) said she even had a pattern for Jayne’s Toboggan! I’m manly enough to pull off knitting, plus, you know, Sylvester Stallone did it in Demolition Man … yeah, that’s probably not helping my case. Whatever, I’m already the gayest gay what never gayed. I don’t think adding knitting to my repertoire is going to make that any worse. Shoosh, vaspider!

I’m working from home today, so no phở. This is sad … so, so sad.