I’m sorry, sir, but your cholesterol isn’t high enough to buy this Hawaiian shirt.

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Him: How close is the storm?

Me: Let me check
*laptop blows away*
Pretty close.


3-year-old: I want more milk.

Me: What’s the magic word?

3: *enraged falcon screech*

Close enough.


Plummeting toward the ground, my primary chute failed, I have a glimmer of hope: my backup chute. Grabbing it, I yell over the screaming wind, “Go get help, boy!” and send it off. Hopefully it will return in time.


There can be a guy with neck tattoos and a knife in his hand on the bus and I will still be the last person anyone sits next to.


If I were rich, I’d have big soft monogrammed towels for when I bathe at the gas station.


Didn’t think my children listened at all but my 3yo shouted from the back seat, “these people don’t know how to drive!” so now I know he listens to his Dad.


I haven’t read a single History book that explains how Asians got out of their Pokeballs.


[parent/teacher conference]
Teacher: Your son is reading four levels above his classmates.
Me: [peeling Elmer’s Glue off my palm] What?


My midwife just sat me down and gently broke the news that I am simply plump and she has no reason to be here.