Don’t you dare tell me how great this is going to be.
Don’t you dare share with me how there was a nine year gap between you and one of YOUR siblings and you are now the best of friends.
I am 38 years old, and I am very much past this stage of my life. Don’t you dare tell me how you were older than I am and you did fine, despite that whole “advanced maternal age” crap that the doctors are constantly throwing in your face.
Don’t you dare tell me how this is going to make for great blogging.
And DON’T. YOU. EVEN. try to convince me that this is somehow going to be the best thing that’s ever happened to me, because all that’s going to do is remind me how well you don’t know me, and what I need the most right now is friends, imaginary or otherwise.
Tell me that you’re sorry, and that you will come babysit anytime I want for as long as necessary. (Dear Mom: Good news! I’m moving you to Colorado indefinitely!)
Finally, don’t you even forget to check your calendar today – it will help all of this make sense. Please don’t hate me. Mwah!