I overheard a dad at Starbucks tell a kid not to tell Mom he got a cake pop for breakfast, so I guess I’m part of their web of lies now too.
Out in public, my husband and I only argue using whale sounds, so it’s actually a very calm and soothing experience for people around us.
A child is being pushed around in a pink toy convertible while eating a chocolate frosted donut, and I want to ask her how she got this job.
I just want to be wealthy enough to leave notes for the house-sitter like “If the puma seems restless, let him splash in the Jacuzzi a bit.”
“Why don’t you have kids yet?” is a great question, ma’am, but I’m saving that conversation for the right total stranger at this gym.
If a bear confronts you in the woods, make it go away by handing it a flyer for your boyfriend’s band’s show.
Screech up to a yard sale. Ask if they have any haunted amulets. Yell at the dog in your backseat, “I’m GETTING the spell reversed, Greg!”
Keen silence from a dinner guest as she looks across the living room and realizes I made her bridesmaid dress into a dog bed.
When I was a teen, my parents talked to me about safe sex. I’m having the same talk with them about the Reply All button.
If you’re robbing my house, just bring a second guy to eat a pizza in front of my dog while you take whatever you want.
“Excuse the mess; we had guests,” I graciously explain, leaving out the “five months ago” part.
On one hand, I’m intrigued by witchcraft. On the other hand, it seems like it involves a lot of chopping and cooking.
Wrap toilet paper around you like a wedding dress and slowly get naked as you tear pieces off to blow your nose all day.
You must be radiating feminine mystique because every man in the cafe is looking at you, and then you realize there’s a TV over your head.
Some guy tried to cut me off in traffic and I screamed, “I’m wearing a sports bra to a business meeting, I am afraid of nothing!”