Dearest Daughters,
Here is another crap lesson. And this time it is literally about crap: Please do not eat poop.
Sometimes, you can get parasites. Mine is named b. Hominis. Well, that's his formal name; I like to call him Freddie. I named him that because that is what one of your cousins wanted to name Babybel. Well, at the time it sounded more like Fwedie, but I choose to pronounce the "r". Your cousins also suggested Igloo (for a girl) and Ice Water (for a boy, of course).
Freddie came into my life and my body on one beatuiful Spring day. It was a day of new beginnings. The air was warm and full of hope and pollen. It was a day to go buy baby chickens.
Bought them, we did. And brought the cuties home to their luxurious accomodations in a 50 gallon storage tote. We played with them and washed our hands, but apparently not well or often enough.
The next day I began my decent into the depths of sickness. A week later, I emerged (about three pounds lighter!) I'll spare the details and the complaints. I was very blessed to have family around to help me care for you two girls. Because my parasite was indifferent to the fact that your Daddy was out of town and that I had two children to care for. Oh, Fweddie, you bugger!
Dearest daughters, trust me and make good choices: please do not lick chickens or eat their poop.
Mommy
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