Focus, girl, focus.

I know you're all dying to know about the CFO date on Wednesday.

Patience, pale flowers.

What you should know before that....is that proof officially emerged last night: I'm turning into my mother.

Not that she would leave her back door open before leaving for work yesterday...then return home 15 hours later to find it ajar. Wondering why her two cats had left the apartment to explore the wilds of Southie. Thinking an intruder was in her closet. Calling the police, her landlord, her upstairs neighbors to warn them of the invasion.

And then, after some pretty real hyperventilation in front of the policeman who arrived to help, remembering she had taken out the trash through that door at 8 a.m. and, in some haze, did not pull it shut. Sitting on the kitchen floor in relief, but still wondering how she was going to track down the cats....only to watch first Tusker, then Velvet, saunter up the patio steps, damp from the rain, mewing to be let back in.

No....of my two parents who gene-ified me, this situation would have happened to my dad. We share a few DNA of flakiness.

But if it had happened to her, my mom would simply not hesitate to tell you the story. Even at risk of her own mortification. What she passed on to me is the desire to share mortifying stories with the masses....perhaps diluting how silly she occasionally feels herself.

Therefore, I do the same.