How to Make a Bad Day Worse

Monday, June 04, 2007, 8:37 p.m., checking voicemail after returning from casino...

“Leila, it’s your mom.”

“If you’re there you need to answer the phone.”

“Your brother ran away today and told his therapist you told him to do it.”

“And you know what? I’m glad you told him to. Good for him!”

Muscle dystrophy/spinal tumor, move to the back. There's a new sheriff in town...