*lays down on the battlefield*
You all go on without me. I’m tired.
I’m not saying murder is the answer, but every time an ex dies, so do some of your darkest secrets.
Be grateful for those who keep your secrets.
That way you don’t have to kill them & go to prison.
Is my kitchen floor clean enough to eat off? No. Does that prevent me from eating off it? Also no.
Well son, in the ’90s, there was no drooling emoji. You had to show up at a girl’s door and actually drool.
Oh men definitely want to strangle me, just not in a sexy way.
Having your 9 year old daughter pack for a sleepover is a great idea, as long as you’re fine with her taking 17 stuffed unicorns and no socks.
Astrology seems kinda silly to me, but what do I know? I’m a Pisces, and we’re just so damn indecisive.
The next time my middle schooler refuses to acknowledge me in public, I’m giving him a big hug and asking him when his last bowel movement was.
Premeditated murder is a harsh accusation. I prefer “former girl scout who is always prepared.”
My son just choked on food laughing, and I’m torn between being concerned and marvelling that one of my jokes almost literally killed someone.
I threw out all the clothes that no longer fit and now I’m a nudist.
I’m not saying becoming a parent ages you, but when I started having kids I was 24, and now I’m 117.
I have two selves:
One wants to be skinny and my jeans to fit. The other is a fat, hungry monster who would murder her own grandmother for a butterfinger.
Enough with the false promises. If you turn on your left signal, you turn left. I don’t care if it was a mistake. You’re turning left now.