I love my mother. But the woman is strange beyond belief. Seriously, she makes me look normal. She was an archeologist before I was born, and the woman has a closet full of animal bones. When I was little I was sent to get something from the attic. I was young and naive, and the door to the attic is sandwiched between two closet doors. I chose the wrong door, and animal bones fell on me. I refused to go near the attic for years.
One day not too long ago, I got the most excited phone call from my mother. It seriously sounded like she had just won the lottery or a free puppy or something. She had been out at a yard sale and had found “the best” taxidermied ferret. And she had gotten “such an amazing deal” on him. His name was now Rascal (yes, she named the dead ferret), and she had the perfect place for him in the parlor. Sadly, this was not the strangest conversation I have had with my mother. But to those of you who doubt my stories, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. I just don’t fancy dead things.