Last night my son was at a friend’s house so I text him to find out what they would be doing. (Related: The summer between high school and college for a parent is scarier than being strapped to a sofa with Hannibal Lecter and forced to watch 24 hours straight of The Exorcist. Or perhaps it’s just me.) I can’t tell you how relieved I was to hear that he would be staying in for the night and I could enjoy a stress free night. So I text him, “Shut the front door,” thinking we would both get a good laugh out of it.
Clearly he has Post Traumatic Momnag Stress Syndrome.
And? Shut the front door is only cool for old people.
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