Gifts from a Childhood Friend That Hint at Long Simmering Resentments
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.
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.
4. Classic from the literary canon that you just happened to casually reread recently. Because, everyone knows, you were an English major.
Make entering your Airbnb a confrontational experience. Rude, even.
If you hear Wham!’s “Last Christmas” at Trader Joe’s, stop shopping immediately and guzzle a 32 oz. carton of eggnog. Post #Whamanogageddon!
German Shallot Stew: Wait… this is a little too similar to French Onion Soup. No worries. We’ve got plenty more recipes!
Bath time shall last a minimum of three hours or until I’ve shriveled to one-half my natural size. ABSOLUTELY NO HAIR WASHING.
My boss said guests don’t want to see “gray smudges” while enjoying their complimentary light breakfast. I said they would once they read the essay I left by the bagel station.
Conspiracy Theorist Uncle: You’re the King of “doing your own research,” so you don’t have time to throw the ball around with your nephews.
A shot of rum stirred into a pint of Guinness? Last night I tossed and turned, cogitating on what type of person this drink might fit.
DON'T: Share hats. Lice? Yuck. DON'T: Cough on your boss. This is a show of dominance and will show that you don’t understand the hierarchy.
I always misplace the Post-it where you jotted down my password, leading me to wildly click around until something happens.
When you adopt from Frankenstein’s, you can rest assured your Rescue Monster has received the highest quality of care.