At least once a week I try to take a photo or add an audio book to my phone, only to find there's no room. In the past this would leave me perplexed and scrambling for an explanation. Now I know to just go to the photos. If I'm stupid enough to leave my phone unattended it will inevitably be filled with lovely shots like these:
Then there are the texts. My husband suddenly finds himself on the receiving end of a barrage of texts allegedly from me. They are invariably nonsensical, insulting, or are giving permission for Foghorn to do something/buy something that in reality is out of the question. An example from this weekend:
The Vulcan and I have a secret code word we use whenever there is any uncertainty as to the writer of a text, for obvious reasons.
Foghorn also has a butt obsession. She thinks Kim Kardashian is the queen of all things because of her larger-than-life derriere, as well as her ability to be rich while having no visible talent. Since I have contempt for all things Kardashian (Kim and her entire extended family), this causes some mother-daughter conflict. Foghorn twerks compulsively and talks butts compulsively and I continually find obnoxious things written on my to do lists, chalkboard grocery list, or Post-Its. This little baby was on my laptop to remind me of where I left off reading on a certain blog and Foghorn decided to add her own touch:
And then there are the times she manages to combine two or more of her favorite annoying habits into one text. This one to her father...from my account, of course:
Yeah, Foghorn as a real thirteen year old ought to be one big thrill fest. I can't wait. Sigh...