Scary Lop-Stars

The following is a real telephone conversation with my mother.

“GeekMan, I was reading your blob yesterday…”
“Mom, it’s a Blog, not a blob. Please try to get it right, ok?”
“Does it really matter?”
“Well, considering that one is a soft, amorphous mass akin to vanilla pudding and the other is a well designed, intelligent, witty and humorous collection of essays by your son, I would hope that it would matter to you.”
“You really think you’re funny, don’t you?”
“I don’t have to think it mom, I know it.”

[crickets]

“Whatever. Anyway, I was reading your BLOG yesterday and I don’t remember the whole hot chocolate incident you wrote about. I do however remember the Lobster Incident™ and I’m really surprised you didn’t write about it, too.”
“Lobster Incident?”
“You remember, don’t you?
“Uh, no. should I?”
“Yes! You were six and your father brought home four huge lobsters and they escaped when I opened the fridge. I spent about an hour chasing them around the house with the broom because I was scared they were going to claw me to death and you kept screaming ‘The Scary Lop-Stars are gonna eat me!’ while hiding in the hallway closet!”
“OMG. Scary Lop-Stars? Really?”
“Oh my, yes. It was so bad that I had to call in our neighbor to help me catch them. You wouldn’t come out of the closet until I swore that all the Scary Lop-Stars were gone. And when we finally put them in the pot to cook them they screamed and screamed and screamed. I know all that screaming upset me, but for some reason I think I remember you sitting on a stool next to the pot rubbing your hands together and smiling. Isn’t that weird?”
“I can’t believe I hid in the closet from Scary Lop-Stars.”
“Well, you were a very… ‘delicate’ child.”
“Girlie-wimp, mom. The proper description is ‘girlie-wimp.”
“At least you didn’t wet yourself again. That’s something, isn’t it?”
“Mom, I have to go put my head in the oven now. I’ll talk to you later, ok?”
“Ok, honey. Give HoBiscuit my love.”
“Sure thing. I’ll put it in the note. Bye.”
“Bye.”

Holy crap, I was the Swedish Chef as a child. Bork, bork, bork!