(no subject)
God, my boobs ache. It's my own damn fault, though. They always ache post-garb.
I've started to wonder if I would be hit on more if I wasn't in near-constant contact with my nephew. I used to balk and throw fits when people called me his mother, and these days I just ignore it. When we're out and about and a shopkeeper shrugs and says, "You'll have to find out if it's okay with your mom," I no longer stutter out that he's just my nephew.
I simply tell him to put the candy back and finish paying.
One of my farm kids said that I should find myself a single father. They all say I'm a mother anyway. Do they think that the mother part is constant and the child can simply be changed in and out? As if, "Well, it's Tuesday, and on Tuesday Janet plays Molly's Mother."
Mondays are Rachel.
Tuesdays are Molly.
Wednesdays are Casey.
Thursdays are Kevin.
Fridays are Kim.
Saturdays are Gena.
Sundays are April.
I'm tired. My boobs hurt. I've had it up to my eyeballs with the dress code at work, and if it wasn't for the fact that one of my regular customers has been coming in almost daily, I might try to stab some co-workers in the eyes with bottles of glue. (Some bottles of glue have very pointy little tips!)
Lucky likes the taste of feet. He's so weird. And big. He can finally jump onto my bed from a standstill.
I've started to wonder if I would be hit on more if I wasn't in near-constant contact with my nephew. I used to balk and throw fits when people called me his mother, and these days I just ignore it. When we're out and about and a shopkeeper shrugs and says, "You'll have to find out if it's okay with your mom," I no longer stutter out that he's just my nephew.
I simply tell him to put the candy back and finish paying.
One of my farm kids said that I should find myself a single father. They all say I'm a mother anyway. Do they think that the mother part is constant and the child can simply be changed in and out? As if, "Well, it's Tuesday, and on Tuesday Janet plays Molly's Mother."
Mondays are Rachel.
Tuesdays are Molly.
Wednesdays are Casey.
Thursdays are Kevin.
Fridays are Kim.
Saturdays are Gena.
Sundays are April.
I'm tired. My boobs hurt. I've had it up to my eyeballs with the dress code at work, and if it wasn't for the fact that one of my regular customers has been coming in almost daily, I might try to stab some co-workers in the eyes with bottles of glue. (Some bottles of glue have very pointy little tips!)
Lucky likes the taste of feet. He's so weird. And big. He can finally jump onto my bed from a standstill.