Why I Hate Pants
Recently I made a spur of the moment purchase of some white Capri pants. Now before I go any further, you must know (or not, depends on what you WANT to know) that I HATE shopping for pants, I HATE it. I look HORRIBLE in pants. I’ll admit it, even my beloved camo Capri pants. I look H O R R I B L E. I have the WORST body shape for pants and subsequently I prefer to wear shorts (which really don’t look that much better but they generally aren’t 3-6 inches too long) or skirts. Anyway, like I said, I had a moment of insanity and bought a pair of pants – in my haste I grabbed the next size up. I thought that would be fine, I thought my big behind would compensate. I was wrong. I went for a walk with my offspring today and spent a lot of time hiking my pants up. It was truly a lovely sight. Damn I hate pants on me. And now I have pants that are too big for me. If anyone wants them, let me know!
Gas Station Romance
Something else odd happened to me today other than discovering that my pants were not fitting me. I stopped in a gas station with my progeny to get them drinks. As I dug out the correct change for Abu he made small talk with me. Then he asked me if my daughters were all I had as far as kids. I said yes, just two girls. Then he gets this strange look in is eyes like he was about to ask me out to a romantic dinner and says “Well maybe in the future you will.” I suddenly felt like I needed some Lysol and said something like “Well you never know. Have a great day!” and got the hell out of there before I had to throw the slushies on this man. It was creepy.
Said to me: Mommy, Coco needs to brush her teeth! She’s got bad breath.
Me: She’s a DOG! She’s supposed to have dog breath! Besides, why were you smelling the dog’s breath?
Tingling With Geekiness
I just finished a discussion with K about a creature on Star Trek and whether it was sentient. The conversation was carried over to an online friend for more discussion and debate. We’ve moved on to etymology. Though this is the same friend I told would end up with calluses on his penis for spanking, his monkey to what he says is an ‘unnatural amount of times a day’.
And now, because it’s late and I’m in an odd mood… it’s time to LETTERS FROM ME! It’s been a while since I’ve done this but here goes.
Dear Strange Old Man in the Store;
PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE stop walking around with your hand on your junk while you shop. I realize you are really old and it’s probably just that you are at the stage in your life where you forget things so you just keep a hold of that to make sure you DID in fact put it in your pants this morning, but REALLY – it’s making me kind of sick. I swear I threw up a little bit in my mouth.
Grossed Out A Lot
Dear Management Team From A Store That isn’t Wally World but Is Still Super;
WTF is with you coming into the bakery to scope out the cake decorator (me) in such a bold manner? You people creeped me out.
Don’t Want To Work For You
Dearest Lovely Local Firemen;
Thank you for walking through the bakery. Please walk slower.
I’ve Got Rechargeable Batteries
Dear Tiny Terrorists;
I don’t care that you are bored. Stop telling me about it, it won’t make you less bored, you’ll just be bored AND in the corner. It’s not my fault; blame the powers that be who don’t want YEAR ROUND SCHOOL – fucking commies.
Suck it up.
Stop sleeping in my bed when I’m gone bitch!
The One Who Feeds You
Dear Guy Friend;
Start that damn blog! The secrets MUST be told.