Produce goes bad three times faster when you’re the one who paid for it. It’s science!
Nothing is hungrier than a Roomba that sees a charger cord.
*staring at a ripped hoodie from 2002*
*glances over at a pile of new hoodies*
Me: Yep, time to stitch you up again, little buddy.
Me: I wish I were a bird.
Husband: So you can fly?
Me: No. So I can sh*t on people.
Husband: “If you’re a bird, I’m a bird.”
Promising I won’t tell anyone your secret doesn’t include my husband. He’s basically my diary.
Watching my husband try to get off the phone with “talkers”is like watching a fly trapped in our house, desperately trying to escape but repeatedly bumping into a closed window.
Me: *staring at leftovers* I think I’ll save the rest of this for later.
[10 mins later]
Also me: I guess this is later enough.
My husband and I take turns unloading the dishwasher, but I usually rerun it or pretend it’s his turn. He does the same, so basically, the dishwasher hasn’t been unloaded in three years.
Husband: *gently taps me on the shoulder before l’ve had my first cup of coffee*
Me:
I don’t remember if I took my pills, but I can’t check because I can’t remember where I put my glasses.
Me: Honey, doctors say you should stand up and walk around every 30 minutes.
Husband: *stands up*
Me: Could you grab me a water while you’re up?
Not only do I turn down my radio to find a house or a parking spot, but I also take off my sunglasses to hear someone better.
One of my biggest talents is taking hundreds of screenshots that I swear I’ll need, but I never look at them again.
[ER]
Doctor: How did you sprain your ankle?Me: I rolled it during a marathon.
Doctor: That’s really impressive.
Husband: She tripped trying to beat a family to a food truck.
Husband: The kids shoes are wet from playing in the sprinklers.
Me: Please throw them in the dryer.
Husband: I don’t think we’re allowed to do that as parents.
Me: Their shoes, Craig! Not the children.