“Future son has a rust belt”

Yrs Trly was thumbing through checks from my deceased mother before throwing things out.
A notation-line on one had what’s quoted above.
Engage brain to perceive what she really meant.
—A) How about “son-in-law,” since my mother is before ultrasound to determine the sex of babies before birth.
And....
I also doubt a future son could earn a karate-belt before birth.
—B) How about “black belt?” I don’t think karate has a “rust belt” program.
Pittsburgh and Ohio are part of the “rust-belt;” giant factories shuttered.
A while ago my sister-in-law purchased a new Ford Focus. “But not the Titanic model.”
“Uhm, don’t you mean ‘Titanium’?”
“Yeah, Titanic!”
Let it go; my sister-in-law isn’t stupid.
I don’t wanna hurt her feelings.
It just so happens I have talent slinging words.
I still have it, yet my stroke slightly compromised my speech.
Being used to criticism, I didn’t think much of my talent.
My 12th-grade English-teacher said I could write really well. I thought him joking.
My voluntary newsletter for my bus-union convinced me otherwise.
People loved reading that newsletter, especially the politicians who funded Transit.
It became less a newsletter and more a vehicle for my writing. I’d crank “bus-stories” at layovers.
Even management loved them; what it was like to drive bus was getting out.
The Grannies, the NASCAR wannabees; “Oh look Dora! A bus! PULL OUT! PULL OUT!
I don’t trumpet that talent.
I happen to have it; while most don’t.
I occasionally get e-mails like the following:
“I will ask him yes I am painting not a very good year so far with all the rain I was going to call you this week anyway I was working next-door at the White House you see me at I was wondering how you were doing sorry to hear about Scarlet I will let you know what Mike says”
This lady is my painter. I ain’t about to make fun of her — despite her lack of a single period.
And her dangling participle. “What’s a participle?” a friend asked. The participles go dingle-dangle-dingle!
I also don’t live next to the “White-House.” (No comments from the peanut-gallery!)
I know what she meant. More challenging was a friend who used his Smartphone’s voice-recognition, then refused to edit. I had to translate, knowing how voice-recognition can muck things.
“Future son has a rust belt.” It’s humorous, but no fair poking fun at it.
Some can sling words, and some can’t. Thems that can shouldn’t claim superiority.

• I had a stroke October 26th, 1993, from which I pretty much recovered. Just tiny detriments; I can pass for never having had a stroke.
• “Transit” equals Regional Transit Service, the public transit-bus operator in Rochester, NY, where I drove transit-bus for 16&1/2 years (1977-1993). My stroke ended that. I retired on medical-disability, and recovered fairly well.
• “Scarlett” (two “Ts,” as in Scarlett O’Hara) is my current dog; a rescue Irish-Setter. She’s thirteen, and is my sixth Irish-Setter, a high-energy dog. (A “rescue Irish Setter” is an Irish Setter rescued from a bad home; e.g. abusive or a puppy-mill. [Scarlett was from a failed backyard breeder.] By getting a rescue-dog, we avoid puppydom, but the dog is often messed up. —Scarlett isn't bad. She’s my fourth rescue.) —I recently had to take her to an emergency vet; she seemed in pain. We concluded it was chronic arthritis in her hip.