A minute, 45 seconds.
How long I’ll hold my hands under a restaurant faucet before I finally realize it’s not motion activated.
“I left my carrot cake from the restaurant in the Uber” and other sad tales of city living.
A man approached me at a bar and tried to woo me with burritos. This is next level genius.
My son, frantically calling and texting, as if life depended upon it.
He’s brokered world peace?
Severed a limb?
Celebrating an international business deal?
How does one make tacos.
I’m whitening my teeth while I bake so I don’t eat and OMG, guys, did you know brownie batter is still amazing mixed with hydrogen peroxide?
I’m sporting Cameron Diaz’ *Something About Mary” hairdo, but tragically, the magic ingredient is Cadbury Crème egg filling.
My neighbor accidentally called me “love” in a text looking for his cat and now we have more reason to never make eye contact again.
Cookie dough and vodka are not dinner.
Coocie dogh and vodka are nt diner.
Cokie dgh and vodkka arnt dinr.
I don’t lock my car doors, so if someone wants to steal my egg mcmuffin wrappers, Sonic happy hour cups and 47 cents, they’re welcome to it.
Getting my hair done Monday.
Good news for the kids who scream “WITCH” as they pass by my house, bad news for the birds that live in it.