I think the dimples on my son’s elbows are perfection.
I would like to train myself to say “Gesundheit,” and not “Bless you.”
I have reached Tums consumption levels that may start to be considered problematic.
I never need to use the word “butt” ever again. The word “bum” is just one million times cuter and nicer.
I have great appreciation for beautiful frosted sugar cookies – you know where they’re decorated with toothpicks, and the instructions include words like “flooding”? – but I will never make those. Ever. I just won’t.
I appreciate that you’re thinking of me, but I don’t want to receive e-mails about angels. Or Barack Obama being a Socialist Muslim. Or Barack Obama being a Socialist Muslim angel.
My kid is the snot-faced kid. He is.
I have a nosy neighbor interest in the nocturnal habits of my neighbors. I have given several nicknames, such as “The Junk People,” “The Drug Dealers,” and “The Always Ups.”
The double flush at work. Ew. I just don’t want to know.
My two most recent reads have been eh. Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand and Bossypants. Eh and eh.
Powdered coffee creamer? Useless, tasteless and pointless, except maybe for astronauts or the apocolypse (when you probably have bigger worries anyway).
What is up with replacing the “o” or “e” in a child’s name with a “y”? It’s an epidemic. And it makes the name look like a cough medicine. Apologies to all the baby Madisyns, Emersyns, etc.
All of the girl names I like make it sound like my daughter should eventually have a career on Hee-Haw. But I guess that’s better than Teen Mom?