Otherwise known as Mother’s Day.
Yes, that’s right, the Duck will be spreading all her rightful sovereignty over the blogosphere tomorrow – see she had wanted to be fancy with that word, but she probably didn’t even use that right. But what the hell, this day is for the mama’s, so I can afford to be an idiot for today. Just today. Like I’ve never done so before.
So remember how the Duck waddled around about how she never got to finishing up that CD she was going to belt out her beloved cackles last Christmas?
I did it.
But now it won’t play on a CD player because apparently all the softwares, virus, internet, computer junk simply did not cover the portion of codecs. I hadn’t even known what they were until 20 minutes ago. And I had almost downloaded a false file 15 minutes ago. The Duck was not meant for the 21st century.
It’s the thought that counts right? Yeah.
This year, I didn’t even bother writing an English translation on the other side of the card anymore. My mother’ll never get around to reading it. She took 10 minutes trying to decipher through the Chinese. Let’s not get too optimistic. It cramps my style. But if I may say so myself, for someone who’s never written a word of Chinese since last Christmas, the Duck’s penmanship is surprisingly remarkable. No bragging of course. Just remarking. The phenomena that never happened last Christmas when I was using that black pen..
Regardless, I am proud to not conform. While my sister praised my mother to be the best, as I believe you fellow quails would. Ha! – and I had actually eaten you all for dinner. Wrapped in bacon. – I wrote to my mom , you like to party and you suck with sentimental issues. Sometimes I feel like you’re a child.
The rest of the 3 paragraphs be darned.
She did get me back though. On the other side of the card I put a baby picture of me, where even the mini me knew to flap her wings and pose before she attempts to fly off the side of the balcony in an airport. Instead of
commenting remarking on how friggin unbelievably adorable baby Duckling was, she dared to ask me – next year, can you put a picture of Milo (my cat)?
I’m bruised. My ego has been crippled. It’s like shaving away from my bountiful plumage.
I swear next year I’ll put a picture of my baby cat alright. Have him soaking wet so that he’ll look like a rat. His fur will stick down, allowing us the sight to marvel at his, ahem, bountiness. Then he’ll be like a fat rat. And of course I knew all of this not from experience. Just pure imagination of the wild mind.
Now the Duck must retreat back to her duck pen to strangle the CD she created. Or she just has nothing to say for this because she’s way too excited to, ahem, remark about her birthday tomorrow. For now, she can afford to celebrate for being young. Ha, how devious was that?
You see that big ball of meat? You guys do taste good with bacon. So does salad.