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Just think, someone close to you took the easy way out and gifted you small quantities of randomly selected unappealing snacks.
A hammock. Hanna, you know a hammock is a death trap because you laughed hysterically when I fell out of one in 7th grade at Trevor’s birthday party.
My mom took my dad's name—and fingerprints, and mustache, and a high-resolution scan of his face with a state-of-the-art LIDAR device.
Skog thought Troll Doll craze of '80s was peak. Skog wrong. Peak time for Troll now.
I am so tired. So worn down. I don't want to fight this anymore. Please. Send me a bottle of Lavender Serenity, because it's time to give in.
I’ll go put the power washer back in the garage. No more power washing today.
4. Classic from the literary canon that you just happened to casually reread recently. Because, everyone knows, you were an English major.
I’ve been silently scorning them for years and I’m ready to take it up a notch—with a decapitated horse head and powerful pagan curses.
At 1,559 years old, I’m not getting any younger. And a woman has to do what she can to make it through this cold, ice-hard world.
“But is that really just?” pleaded Andiemantus, trying not to scuff his new Manolo Blahnik Mary Jane walking sandals against the cobblestone floor.
Pears have all the qualities you love in an apple, but with a fresh, edgy, devil-may-care attitude.
Isn't it beautiful? Doesn't it make you want to grab your snow-spoon and scoop as much as you can up into your mouth?