A newly wed guy asked me about marriage. I told him it’s sort of like a museum. You have to be quiet and you can’t really touch anything.
Wish I was as brave as my kid who just ate zero bites of her dinner and then asked for a snack 6 minutes after the table was clear.
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My coworkers have such cute nicknames for me, like “The one who eats all the donuts” and “Don’t tell her there’s pizza in the kitchen”.
Hotel California reviews
“Such a lovely place”
“Plenty of room. Excellent check out”
I’m in pretty decent shape for a dude who was in a serious car accident and spent the last six weeks recovering in a hospital bed. That didn’t happen to me–it’s just a good yardstick for the kind of shape I’m in.
Me: I miss you.
My hairdresser: Did you do something to your hair? Please don’t. For the love of god, everything is hard enough without that. Don’t touch it.
Me: No, I just miss —
My hairdresser: Don’t touch it.
*spins in circles*
*gets stuck in corner*
*spins in circle*
[Me playing Call of Duty with my son]
[inventing the squirrel]
angel: rodent features and a bushy tail. anything else?
god: make em sneaky poopers
god: when they poop. make sure like no one ever sees it.
I just want to be fit enough to reach into my glove compartment, without crying.
*struggling to get the peanut butter jar that I just closed open*
“HOLY COW, I’M STRONGER THAN MYSELF”
I threw a boomerang yesterday and it didn’t come back. How long do you reckon before it’s safe to turn around?