I don't really follow football, but if my life depended on it, I'd root for DA BEARS.
Not because I actually like them or know any of the players. This decision is based solely off of my love for the old SNL skits. I don't think there is any shame in that.
If my kids happen not to Dick Butkus their way in front of me to the bathroom I have the pleasure of peeing while someone bangs on the door and screams that they are going to pee their pants. Oh, I'm sorry, did you have four kids? Are you in your mid thirties wishing you could have a hysterectomy and a bladderectomy? NO. GO AWAY.
It has been more than thirteen years now since I have peed alone. I won't even remember how to pee when my kids move out without the soothing sounds of warfare drums, hand-to-hand combat, and unintelligible scream-cries coming from the other side of the door. It's like a Pavlov's dog situation. As soon as someone starts whining or screaming, all of the sudden I have to pee, like how some women hear a baby cry and then need to pump their breastmilk or feed their baby. Sounds are very powerful, and I'm sure the sound the sound of silence holds a tremendous amount of power but I have fifteen more years until I find out for sure.
On the day of my last child's graduation I am going to dress as a silent monk and hold this sign.
Even without an urgent emergency of the bladder (that kind of sounds like it could be a parody of Total Eclipse Of The Heart), trying to do my hair or apply makeup is useless around here. I think I have had the time to put makeup on to where it looks halfway decent and curl my hair three times since I started my new job three months ago. And, as I have mentioned before, waitresses are tipped better based on their looks so now we all know why I am constantly broke. It's all the kids' and their tiny bladders' faults that we can't have nice things. Just kidding, I don't buy nice things because nice things get broken/burnt/stolen/lost/crushed/melted/shattered. This is why we have an extensive mason/pickle jar drinking cup collection. It's not white trash to drink out of old pickle jars, it's called upcycling, people. Get. With. The. Times.
Is it weird that this picture made me feel guilty for eating pickles and using their homes as drinking cups???
I can't afford therapy, so step up readers.
I don't really know where I was going with all of this but I do know I was mad about not being able to pee in a bathroom I pay for without getting tackled to the ground and now the steam has sort of worn off. And, I have to pee again.
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