Dagmar's Mother

You know, Honey, some things just need to be said outside of a pillow scream and into the far more (in)direct world of the internet. I've invented a drink called Tequila Milk, I've spilled DIET vanilla soy milk all over my NIGHT SHIRT, I've bought an extra container of disinfectant wipes to calm the nerves, I've done something called "downloaded" with something called "apps," I've got the REAL Housewives of Some American Rich Un-City on, and it has happened: the person who calls my birthday "the day Stevie Ray Vaughn died," my mother, has moved. in.

Since childhood, I haven't felt as ashamed of sneaking into the kitchen for a midnight roast chicken, pasta, and cocktail! Having not spent the same night in a house as this lady since I was a rosy, bubbly child of wealth, an she was an elegant duchess of NewWorstDam, the richest region of The Nether Regions, how I worry about being seen. The quiet, sad clicks I am sneaking with my heels...

I leave the country on Friday. Or do I?