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My mom sent me the “Flat Belly Diet” book. No, no, she wasn’t being rude. We decided to try the hype together, changing our mind frames, and eating habits. She generously sent me my own copy of the book.

Understand this first:
Mom is prim and proper, old school even. I used to be. I’m not anymore.
Mom doesn’t hear some of my jokes, because they’re inappropriate, and Mom doesn’t do inappropriate. Also, I think she’d think less of me.

Since I joined the Droid bandwagon, I’ve had a few issues with texting on the touch-pad, mainly, seeming like I’m drunk-texting, when I’m 100% sober.

Last night I sent this text to my mom, without proof-reading it first:

“I got the Flat Belly Dirty Book in the mail! Can’t wait to get my dirt on!”

Wow, I sound like Chris Brown or something, except that Mom doesn’t know who he is, or that he beats women. But she did appreciate my edited follow-up text.

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