The $40 delivery fee for my Ben and Jerry’s is steep, but I admit I picked the Lamborghini to impress my neighbors.
The only reason I insist on returning to the office is because my cat needs a break from me staring at him all day.
“I heard this story last time. Do you have anything new?”
-Me, as a therapist.
Hockey is like trying to push a potato bug with golf clubs while the players roller-skate on ice to house music.
Him: Uh… you were gone for a while.
Her: I had to reorganize your kitchen before we got intimate.
A few dozen cupcakes tripped and fell into my mouth against my will.
NETFLIX: Are you still watching?
Me: I’m trying, but you won’t let me use my neighbor’s sister’s ex-boyfriend’s password.
Watched Gladiator again and imagined characters engaging in mundane conversations:
Maximus: ‘Are you going to the Colosseum tonight?’
Juba: ‘Nah, got laundry to do. Can’t wear bloodstained armor all the time, you know.’
I sympathize with the journalist intern assigned to uncover my scandalous past, only to stumble upon countless pictures of me indulging in gravy.
An unexpected perk of having pets is when the cat throws up on the couch; the dog jumps in to handle the cleanup.
I wish I could find a job where I got paid as a “breadwinner,” but alas, good things come to those who cake.
That awkward moment when the poltergeist in the TV calls you by the wrong name.
My husband let the batteries die in all the security cameras because he didn’t like seeing his bald spot at a better angle.
Was it that frightening to gift newlyweds a ceramic cast of my fist?
In my daydreams I’m majestic, like a hippo ballerina, but in reality, I’m a rhinoceros breakdancer.