[the noise of everyone talking at a party randomly goes silent]
ME: i call hot dogs meat pickles
Me: [covered in chocolate, miniaturized, turning into a blueberry, stumbling out of an incinerator, and floating away] I’ll take the job
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Me: I read where psychologists are worried that after all this time in lockdown, people are going to have trouble adjusting to regular social interaction again. What do you think?
Not to split hairs, but I called you “haughty,” not “hottie.”
I’m too immature for adultery.
It’s like my cat doesn’t realize my retirement plan involves him doing something interesting enough to be famous on the Internet.
rt if you’d call your friend just to tell them that potatoes came to japan in 1600
I’m pretty sure the coupon I gave you for a $7 haircut suggests that I’m not interested in that $44 bottle of shampoo, but thank you.
*ties husband’s hands to headboard*
*turns out lights*
“Welcome to my PowerPoint presentation ‘Curtains: How About These?'”
Trust is knowing you never have to look through their phone.
I’m fearfully awaiting the day my alarm clock becomes self-aware and the snooze button hits me back.