"I'm thinking of live streaming but I don't know what. I could do a walk through of --" Big Kid started.
"Oh, oh, I know!" I offered.
"Me dancing to Meghan Trainor songs."
"No, seriously. You could go viral."
"In the very worst way, mom. No. Absolutely not."
"Because you hate Meghan Trainor? I could do Justin Timberlake. Remember? How good I am at JT songs?"
"I could make a cameo in it." Mr. Ashley said.
The other day some cute cashier told Mr. Ashley that he looked like Justin Timberlake. I almost needed an Uber home because the car was so crowded with ego. I laugh hysterically every time it's mentioned, just like I did when she said it.
"No. Guys. God Himself will leave heaven to speak to me personally before any of you appear in one of my videos. Like, the second coming of Christ will happen first."
"So, like Tuesday?" Mr. Ashley asked.
"Well -- that's cool, though," I said, "Exciting and stuff. I'm available now. I could put pants on. Or not?"
At this point Big Kid began playing a screaming sound bite from his computer, over and over again. A continuous loop of screaming, the perfect background music for raising teenagers and for living with us.
"No. That's okay." He said over the screaming.
"I thought no pants too. Alright. What song? Let me stretch first."
The screaming continued. Everyone ignored it.
"No. No. No. It's fine."
"Big Kid, it's no trouble, I'm happy to support you."
"I think it's really nice that you're supporting your mom, actually. This is a dream of hers."
"Well, let's face it, there's some great cross promotion opportunity here too. We probably have dozens of fans once you add them together. Go get little kid, he's been wanting to get our band off the ground. He calls it the Singing Sisters but I really think we should go with Clinton and the Secret Service."
Big Kid closed his laptop with a hard click. "Nevermind. I am just going to delete the entire internet from my life."
So. That worked out well.