Hurricane. It’s fine.
Broken foot. Still fine.
Anemic, arthritic, slow walking dog who refuses to go in the backyard so must be walked through nature’s hissy fit. Totally fine.
Coffee maker not working. EXTREMELY NOT FINE.
My daughter is so critical…
“Another cup of coffee?”
“That’s a lot of salt.”
“Your pants are on inside out. Again.”
I need a new salt grinder but I need one full of just Xanax because salt is bad for you.
Place any sort of bowl like object anywhere in your house and in a month and it will have collected old screws, batteries, and pens like some kind of black hole.
According to murder documentaries literally nobody expects “… evil to be lurking in the shadows of a sleepy, rural town.”
My therapist says “being eaten by a bear” is not a “goal”.
The secret to fluffy pancakes is gently folding the souls of people who annoy you into the batter.
It’s weird how nail clippers seem to breed in your bathroom drawer then scatter when you need a pair like some bizarre version of Andy’s toys.
My daughter just said The Offspring is classic rock.
I don’t want this one anymore someone come get her.
I was just complaining to myself about how lazy my daughter is until I realized she gets that from me so now it’s adorable and endearing, of course.
They should just put something in the water so we all sleep for 14 days.
It would be way faster and I could use a two week nap. I swear to god I should just be in charge of everything.
This all goes a lot faster in the movies.
I still have a toilet paper stash leftover from Y2K.
Her: My name is Katherine but you can call me Bunnie!
Me: No, Katherine. I don’t believe I can.
Don’t call me honey or baby if I don’t know you.
I’ll marry you and move my mother in with us and then you’ll be sorry.