September 31 was the day I realized I needed a calendar.
I'm going out on a limb, preferably my legs.
The worst part about being blonde is that people assume you’re having fun.
“I can fix him,” says the vet, examining my new pet Rottweiler who ruthlessly humps anything in his path.
Some call it self-loathing, I call it empathizing with the people who know me.
Explaining the symbols on a map is the stuff of legends.
My job is very cool. (I build snow forts.)
I'm officially moving all of my hours from Daylight Savings to Daylight Checking and spending time like there's no tomorrow.
I don't go thrift shopping, I go good will hunting.
I asked my six-year-old why she didn't pick me as her hero for a school project. She said she thought the irony would be lost on her peers.
Last holidays, we only got to see grandparents on Zoom. This year, we get to smell them again.
Why do they call them contractions and not birth quakes?
I’m a donkey and my pronouns are hee/haw.
“Nice zombie costume!” the kids at Halloween exclaimed as I opened the door in my usual work-from-home clothes.
If you don’t finish the punchline of a dad joke, it becomes an absentee father joke.
I was listening to a news story on the radio about a family whose house had burned down and they lost everything, and I started to cry because I realized I’m now that person who listens to radio.
When your friends go out for Spanish ham and don't invite you, that's lomo fomo.
Still seeking the level of inner peace of a woman in a commercial eating a single square of dark chocolate.
Forget wikiHow, I need wikiWhy.
My grandfather worked his entire life in a mirror factory. He just couldn't see himself doing anything else.