texting with my sister, yet again

Her: I have the worst cramps ever. I hate my freaking uterus. I don't even need it.

Me: Why not?

Her: I mean not right now. I'd like to put it on ice for a few years.

Me: Oh ok. Well, I'm gonna have MLL's baby when I'm thirty-five and then adopt another one. I will write best selling books and run a dog rescue.

Her: Well when I'm thirty-five I'm going to have Leonardo DiCaprio's baby and open a vintage clothing store. Each day I will open at eleven so I can sleep in. Ginger (her dog) will come to work with me every day and there will be a cappuccino machine. I will have a nanny to watch the baby while I shop estate sales for fabulous vintage items.

Me: Yeah, well when I'm thirty-six my book will be purchased by Showtime, made into a TV series and then a movie. With my millions, I buy a fabulous farm in Kentucky where "Just Pucking Perfect Pet Rescue" will save millions of lives and then be featured on the Today Show. Impressed by my journalistic raw talent, Matt Lauer will offer me a gig and I will replace Meredith. Forced to buy a penthouse in NYC, I will buy in the same building as Britney and become her BFF. Our connection will lead to my singing back-up to her new song "Let's Have Sex, Boy." My obvious talent will lead to my own record deal. I am now a platinum selling artist walking on stage to receive her Grammy, when Kanye West (who hasn't done anything in years) runs on stage to steal my award. Just then, my baby-daddy/nanny/part-time Latin Lover springs into action and shoots Kanye in the face. We are forced to flee the country and are offered protection by 50 cent. We flee to Italy. My new name is Francesca. I eat pasta every day for the rest of my life.

Her: You win. But I still get to have Leo's baby.

wg