phosfate | (no subject)

So we drove past the local fortuneteller's place on the way to Target.

Mom: Boy, she must be doing okay. She's still around.

Ann: There's money in it. I'd be great at it if I could stand the deception and overwhelming guilt.

Mom: Yeah?

Ann: Yeah. I've done it to people and really freaked them out.

Mom: Huh. Kimmie says she's psychic, you know.

Ann: Kimmie feels a draft and thinks it's the legions of Civil War dead come to see her new kitchen.

Mom: And now you say you are?

Ann: Nonono. Kimmie thinks she's psychic. I can make other people think I'm psychic. Much more useful.

Mom: Ah.