Let’s Talk About Some Things…

When I was single Rob used to show up at my apartment, walk in without knocking, sit down on my couch and say, “Let’s talk about some things…” After he listed off his various topics and got a sufficient response he usually left. He really took the idea of being “aloof” to a whole other level, and I was apparently super into it.

But really, let’s talk about some things:
-Sometimes when I give Robbie a bath I worry that he ingests as much glitter as I find on his person.
-I bought some fancy crackers today and they tasted just like Chicken in a Biskit. I was not disappointed.
-When I work my one shift out of the month I’m in an obnoxiously good mood the whole time. People are like, “Hey Kasey, you’re patient doesn’t look too good.” I’m like, “Sweet, lemme just dannnnce my way back in there then. You’re right, there is probably a situation here, cha, cha, cha!”
-If your dog poops in my yard, and then I almost hit it, I feel like an eye for and eye, yeah? That’s still a thing, right? Does that apply here? I think it does.
-When my baby pukes in public (he usually reserves it for the grocery store) I pretend that I have no idea why he would be doing that and act completely mortified because he definitely doesn’t do that at least 20 times every day. If I stay calm I feel like I’m saying, “Yeah, he puked. So? This is socially acceptable. I knew there was a 90% chance this would happen and I came into the produce section anyway!”
-Fake poinsettias>real poinsettias. Poinsettias are just a high-maintenance and underachieving flower/plant/leaf/whatever. They are seriously impossible to keep alive. Especially if you don’t water them, or put them in sunlight. Worst. Plant. Ever. Why can’t they ever just be like the cactus and learn to be a little bit more self sufficient?
-Holiday drivers suck. It’s Christmas, you buttholes. Give a courtesy wave at the very least after you cut me off.

 

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5 thoughts on “Let’s Talk About Some Things…”

  1. Rob sounds like my dad at Aunt Lynette’s house. Seriously. In. Two sentences. Out. No hello or goodbye. It’s not polite, and I can’t even tell you how much I love it.

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