Have you ever had one of those days where you think about or do random shit?
The other day I bought some eye cream because I am starting to get just a few wrinkles. I’m only 36 and am not ready for wrinkles. (Cue your “Snort is so conceited!” thoughts.) I also bought a moisturizer from the same brand. For the last two days I have been using the eye cream twice a day and following it up with the facial moisturizer. I was having to use four pumps of moisturizer to get all of my face and neck, and that seems excessive. It seems that my stupid ass bought a small container of eye cream and the extra-large-with-a-pump container of the same eye cream.
I loaded up the washing machine with detergent, fabric softener, and bleach the other day to wash some towels. Imagine my surprise when I came back an hour and a half later and found the washing machine smelling fresh and clean and the heap of dirty towels still on the floor. Yep. I forgot to actually add the laundry.
The same goes for my coffee this morning. I brewed an excellent pot of hot water, added my Coffee Mate, and promptly choked.
I went grocery shopping Saturday afternoon. Something just didn’t feel right. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something was definitely odd. I did my mental checklist: debit card? Check. Children? At home with J. Gas in the car? Check. ID and insurance? Check. Wearing shoes? Check. Brushed teeth? Check. Hair not sticking out in all directions? Check. I finally figured it out AFTER I spent an hour at the grocery store and 30 minutes at the farmers market: I was not wearing a bra and likely jiggled and pointed during my entire excursion.
6-inch has fallen in love with orange Tic-Tacs.
Footlong asked me to buy him a can of baby corn at the store. He said he wanted to try it. It didn’t go over very well.
My best friends and I have decided to leave our Christmas trees up year round but to decorate for all of the major holidays. Our Valentine tree is up, and it looks like Cupid barfed everywhere. I’ve got decorations on stand-by for St. Patrick’s Day, Easter/Springtime, and for the fall. I am anxiously waiting for the summer patriotic stuff to arrive at Dollar Tree so I can get my tree decorated for the summer.
I was dressing 6-inch for preschool yesterday, and while putting on his jeans I had this thought: why in the fuck to baby/toddler jeans have pockets? What is he supposed to put in there? His baby wallet? His keys to his battery-operated Ford truck? His baby phone?
I am convinced that the more you make your life look like a unicorn fart and the more you praise your spouse on Facebook that it directly correlates with how unhappy you are. Let it all hang out, people. Good and bad. That is life.