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Soon, I’ll have to decide which to marry. For now, we do a lot of courtship. One of them might stare at me, and I stare back.
I’m going to call for an exorcist soon, and it just won’t do for her to be in her typical house-wear of leggings and a cozy sweater when he arrives.
She rolls into my office like one of those rotating hot dogs at 7-11. You know the ones, plastic-y but intriguing.
The Gingerbread House from Hansel and Gretel: Start a new magical chapter in your storybook with this enchanted cottage built entirely out of candy!
No, of course not. It's no big deal. This happens to everyone. Right? Everyone has little involuntary muscle spasms sometimes.
Because the romance author who wrote your story didn’t quite know how to end their book.
After running out of per diem, your child will unwisely accept financial help from their Russian pen pal.
So where are you holding the wedding? Is it going to be in the sewers of Chicago?
What would you rather have: frugal parents who saved almost $2 a month, or documented proof that you experienced a childhood?
The one-year anniversary of the day I sold you my couch on Craigslist! Time really does fly, huh?
My schedule should def get more flexible though after the conclusion of the next eight American presidential election cycles.
Brita Love™ can teach you lessons about the heart, but it cannot be that love for you. To think otherwise is a dangerous game.