Remember the birds?
Remember how funny I thought I was when I said, "Oh... that's why my brother doesn't have any hair"?
Remember how I sent it out to everybody I knew and everybody my brother knew and a bunch of spam addresses that were in my spam filter and some addresses I made up just because I thought I was *that* funny?
Denizens of the comments may have read about my aunt's reply:
"Yes! And why you're so fluffy and...eager! And your mom has spread her wings!"
I said it out loud, then I sent it to Brother:
"Oh, for fuck's sake..."
"I swear jokes just die at the Boulder city limits."
Brother and I were on the phone last night cementing nephew-sitting plans for the weekend and I asked if he'd received Aunt Judy's bewildering left turn.
"Yeah, I sent you a reply... something about how jokes just die at the Boulder city limits."
"Wow. You're right. They hit that Deepak Chopra filter at the border and they just break down into their most spiritual and transcendental parts.
"And then they're re-assembled as self help books on the other side."
We chuckled, then I said, "I really hope I remember that little chain of events."
"Oh, I do too."
"It'd make a really funny blogpost for those who know Boulder."