My youngest son thinks I know 5,999,999,995 people.
When he finds out I only have 184 friends on Crackbook and 188 followers on Twitter (most of whom are PR people and strippers), he will demand an "L" be tattooed on my forehead.
I mean, I'm assuming he thinks I know 5,999,999,995 people (the missing five from that number being myself, my three children, and my dear Ty-man) because any time we leave the house, I'm peppered with the following:
J-man: Mama, who dat?
Me: I don't know, honey.
J-man: But who are dey?
Me: Not sure, sweetie.
J-man: Where dey going?
Me: I don't know.
J-man: Aw, but I wanna know! What's his name?
Me: Beats me.
J-man: Are dey going on a date?
Me: Finally registering the conversation. WHAT?!? What makes you think that?
J-man: Blinking 'Cause he wearin' a suit!
And on, and on, and on, and on.... Well, you get the idea. And this is constant. He pesters me about the people in the grocery store, at local pizza joint, in the car next to us at the stoplight. Never. Ending.
And me being the logical-minded person I am, I cannot make up stories about those people.
Yes, honey, that's Prudence Phillpot. She used to be a ho, but now she's a stripper, working on her double-masters in psychology and business so that she can open up her own legal brothel in Nevada and counsel the johns who come in for a little slap and tickle. You know, tell them that the real reason why they're there is not for crazy, monkey sex, but to fill the void left by their absentee mothers. In her spare time, Prudence knits toilet paper covers and is pen pals with lonely, alcoholic dictators in third world countries.
See? If I try to make stuff up, the kids will end up in foster care.
And I certainly can't walk up to said random people and ask Hi! What's your name? Why are you wearing that? Where are you going? Why are you here? Do you like Corvettes? because I'd probably get kicked in the nethers.
So it is with great trepidation that I await the day when I have tell the J-man his Mama isn't as popular as he thinks she is.
As if I would want the ability to peak into people's heads because I would much rather peak in their underwear drawers.
No, sweetie, I don't know what his name is, but I do know he's wearing navy, silk boxers with giant red lips on the ass!