Adventures in Texting with the Teen: Wherein it is painfully obvious she is the product of my own doing.

THE TEEN BEAN:
You remember my super-super cute super old man bus driver right? He's retiring and today's his last day... I just got sad.  :(

ME:
What the hell?

TEEN:
What do you mean what the hell?! It's SAD!!! He's the cutest old man ever. He wears button up shirts and combs his hair over and has little glasses.

ME:
Is this the poor man that watches you every morning as you race down the front steps and run toward the bus stop after he's started driving away?

TEEN:
No. We have a girl for the morning who I HATE. He's only the afternoon driver. I wanna take a picture of him to show you. He's just the cutest thing!

TEEN:
Oh jesus.... Mary's walking her dog...

ME:
TAKE A PICTURE!!!!!

TEEN:
She's not to our house yet! I will when she gets in the yard.

ME:
Good. Do a surprise attack. Like karate drop-kick ninja stuff.

TEEN:
She took a turn and didn't come by our house. Probably because you yelled at her that one time.

ME:
I didn't "yell." I just told her she was the subject of an ongoing trespassing investigation.


Yes, I realize the poor child doesn't stand a chance with me as her mother. That being said, she likes old people. That's not necessarily an endearing quality she got from me, but one she possesses nonetheless. So, there is hope for her. Probably way more than for me.