Showing posts from 2018

Spiked Lemonade

It has been a marvelous beginning of summer. The birds serenade us every morning with their beautiful song. It makes me want to open up our French doors and sing with them until my entire house wakes up to join in our sweet melodies. My pale pink, baby doll nightgown would blow in the breeze and my husband would cook up an amazingly decadent breakfast that he would somehow manage to make fat and calorie- free. There would be a carriage waiting downstairs to take us to the beach where we would spend time with our mermaid and unicorn friends in seventy-degree perfect, weather. We would get great tans without the threat of strange sun spots that beckon WebMD’s dooming diagnosis. Our kids would behave like two little cherubs and not whine, hit each other, or need to poop or pee the entire day. I would have no desire to go to a separate part of the beach to have alone time, because being with my well-behaved, self-sufficient and loving family would be all I could ever want in the worl

Stop N' Stare

Hey, Crimson, Yes, I am talking to you in your fabulous crimson-colored pea coat with the matching leather gloves. You look positively regal climbing into your G-Class Mercedes Benz with your pursed lips and perfectly styled bob.  Everything about you is exquisite except for that side eye. Oh, how it made me cringe. It was an unmistakable scowl in my direction and it was as blatant as it was unnecessary. There isn’t an ounce of you that doesn’t scream constipated with a Prada bag full of laxatives.     It was 7PM and nearly 40 degrees out and my ten-month-old’s feet were sock-free, but you should know that my daughter has an insatiable hunger for anything that sooths her aching gums. Like stuffed animals, fingers and her pink heart socks. So by the time we drove from school to the grocery store, her socks were saturated with enough saliva to morph them into two spitballs. Anyone who has had an overprotective Mother or even better, Grandmother, knows that wet socks equal the pl

Kick Boxing Air Freshener

Let me let you in on a little secret. I am wildly immature for my age and wear it like a badge. I have a difficult time keeping a straight face when in situations that suggest to keep a low profile. It's something I can do very little to control. So when the guy diagonal from me let out the loudest fart known to mankind, I laughed like the tickle monster was stuck in my clothing. What made matters worse was the jackass that was sitting next to me. This chick couldn't control herself. She was trying so hard to stifle her laugh that I was afraid she would let one loose as well. She was doing me no favors.  The more she laughed, the harder I did and I have a very contagious chuckle that manifests itself into laughing gas for unassuming people near me. This was a problem. I swear that people were taking deeper breaths than they were before.  Apparently farting was encouraged during kickboxing class because these people were inhaling the shit out of the air in the room. When