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You think my child is a heinous sociopath because she killed your family cat? Ever heard of formaldehyde and Damien Hirst? It's called art.
It goes without saying that when you've sniffed wax with as many husbands in home décor stores as I have, you tend to get jaded.
Fairweather Friend Season commences with the onset of colder temperatures, and/or bird migration, and/or closed-toed shoes.
A few alternative ideas for how to return to your youthful self and satisfy the urge to get back behind the desk.
As the sun sets on the horizon, I use the bottle opener to crack open some ice cold beers and bond with my shipmates.
In 200 feet, check the mirror to ensure your child hasn’t escaped the car seat like a little Gen Alpha Houdini.
Though I’ve never worked in the service industry nor do I know anyone who has, I know that, like all jobs, the head honcho is the daddy.
Scout is as energetic, spry, and sly as ever—the Paul Rudd of lab mixes. What’s his secret? “I sleep sixteen hours a day,” he deadpans.
We know this isn’t the news you wanted to hear, but unfortunately our pool was full of more qualified applicants or people we already know who lived closer.
I’m alone. There is no other person on Facebook. Every day, I open Facebook. I look for any sign of human life. There is none.
You’re always baking anyway, what's one more batch of brownies? What about 12 extra batches?
I'll have just spent $150 to have a breakdown when I could have done that for free, in my apartment, with ice cream.