History of 'The Book of Flubs'

SO. I'm a little horrible at background things. I just thought of the fact that people might have questions about the origins of this epic randomness. Well, it all started when my dear cousin 'Who' moved to Ottawa. Being that our family talks like the 'Gilmore Girls' when we get together (really really fast and all at once), we soon discovered the mistakes that can occur when doing so. They were hilarious. They were perfectly awesome. So, I started documenting them. I bought this little blue composition book, it was pretty, and it looked like it was for someone learning how to write. I decided to name it 'The Book of Flubs', familiar yes? But no, it was more than that. In telling 'Who' its name, we got our first entry. She called it 'The Book of Flibs'. It was set in stone. It was set in my heart, which is why I had to go back to the original name (plus blue) in this blog. I loved that book. We collected and narrated many a story, but sadly, I made a judgement error. I'm going to make it again right now. I put my Mom in the blue book (our affectionate nickname for it - please use it in relation to this blog) - I know - how could I? I had too. It wasn't bad or anything - in fact, compared to our large and ridiculous stories, it was tame, it was little. Who knew that it could cause so much trouble? Not us. My Mom had been trying to think of a birthday present for my Dad. She was thinking about a subscription to a golf magazine. When she told it to us she said she was going to get him a 'golf prescription'. See - little is it not? It was funny - not so much the mistake - but the image it put in my head. I just kept seeing a white coated Doctor touching his face saying 'Hmmm. So you say you work too hard, eh? Want to relax? I've got just the thing for you'. FUNNY! 'The Book of Flibs' disappeared a week and a half later. She's good. She waited it out to put aside suspicion. Smart lady that Mom of mine. But! She can't throw anything away, so one day, one amazing day, 'The Book of Flibs' will surface, full of its lost stories, aching for new ones. That's it, that's all.

P.S. Don't worry - my Mom can't get rid of this one. It's on the computer. It's password protected. It's out of her reach. Whahahaha!