Gladiator Cats & Big-Girl G-Strings
Some days are frustrating. We can’t avoid them, but why cry when you can laugh about stuff that gets under your skin? Here are a few of my unfavorite things:
My cats use the bathtub as a gladiator ring…no soak for the weary until fur is removed.
Sure, two pieces of toilet paper are sufficient for my needs. Am I the only person qualified for roll replacement?
My prize for wrangling the stray cart in the parking lot rodeo is a plastic bag of overpriced milk and bread.
It’s a hotdog conspiracy designed to keep you buying more buns for the extra hotdogs and more hotdogs for the extra buns.
The fifth little piggies go wee, wee, wee at the blister-rubbing sock seam.
No, I didn’t want to make it to my appointment on time. I’ll catch the next green light after you’ve finished your text.
One press of the toaster lever does not toast to the proper brownness. The second press results in blackening by dragon’s breath.
I don’t understand you. If I wanted help from a foreigner, I would move to a foreign country.
Pardon me, am I interrupting your tweet check? I thought we were having dinner. #RudeDateEatsAlone
For the love of lingerie, panty makers, please design big-girl underwear with an appropriately-sized crotch. If I wanted G-strings, I would buy them on purpose.