My name is…

I watched Walk the Line with the parents a couple of evenings ago, and now my dad thinks it’s the most amusing thing in the world to wander around the house and repeatedly mutter in a deep, distinctive voice, “HELLO, I’M JOHNNY CASH.”

Worse yet, he’s been blessed with a daughter (that would be I) who thinks this is equally hilarious. Every time I respond to his new favorite catchphrase with yet another resounding bout of laughter, he grins slyly, “You like that, huh? HELLO, I’M JOHNNY CASH.” Then he walks away, only to sneak up behind me a few hours later to repeat in a gravelly tone, “HELLO, I’M JOHNNY CASH.”

I foresee this continuing for the rest of the week; therefore, I think it’s time to watch another movie. Like, maybe, The Godfather or something. “Mikey, why don’t you tell that nice girl you love her? I love you with all-a my heart, if I don’t see-a you again soon, I’m-a gonna die.”

[Oh, and then we went to Sears to get a brand-new dishwasher (seriously, I know you’ve always thought my life is so interesting and important, see?), and the Daddy-o glanced around and remarked, “Look at that, Yasminay! Maybe we should get your ummy that red tractor for Mother’s Day…so she could mow the lawn.” What kind of crack the man is smoking, I don’t even know.]

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