Serving breakfast to Reagan and her friends, one said “I love donuts.” I responded, “I love college.”
But I loathe the song “Hate my Life;” it begins:
“So sick of the hobos always begging for change
I don’t like how I gotta work and
And they just sit around and get paid”
Yes, because homeless people are living the high life.
Someone found my blog by googling “fetish fish crush.” Which is putting all sorts of unsavory images in my head.
My husband ATE my Mother’s Day cake. ON SATURDAY NIGHT. We sampled it Friday and gave some to the neighbors, but I had set aside three pieces for the holiday, one for him, one for me, and one for my mom. (Since the kids only like chocolaty desserts.)
I was understandably upset and he offered to make a replacement. I think he thought I would say “No, thanks.” But I said “Yes!” Thus he was up at 7 am on Sunday making this cake. My husband can cook, but he’s not a baker. Not really fond of recipes, (because, you know, he’s a man, and recipes are dangerously close to DIRECTIONS) but he did a great job and his cake was perfect.
Joking about a local destination for gay trysts (which my friend’s husband stumbled upon by accident) I found “the line.”
That shouldn’t be crossed in humor. Is joking about your teen son getting a part-time summer job as an under-aged gay hooker really worse than a dead baby joke?
Speaking of my son, he made me a Mother’s Day card. Sweet or cheap? Definitely cheap and not really sweet, as it said:
Front cover: “You’re the best mom…”
Inside: “…I’ve ever had….”
Back: “…So far.”
Then Reagan made me a card that said that I am her “third favorite parent.” Chris thought that meant he was both her first and second fave, but I would hazard a guess that he’s fourth and numbers one and two might be the computer and the TV.
My daughter was really grumpy this morning then called me after school and acted totally normal. When I mentioned her earlier behavior, she responded, “Well, I was tired. I had stayed up really late last night reading.” I think that’s a little like saying, “Sorry I forgot the lemons, but I was busy bangin’ a hooker.”
For more *hooker talk (underage or otherwise), you should visit Keely at the Un-mom.
*Okay, I’m lying, I have no idea what Keely wrote about this week, but it’s bound to be entertaining, so check her out!