Would somebody steal my apartment complex’s massive recycling bins.
Industrial size.
Two of them.
Waistin’ Time
So I recently had a friend (Ms. Cassy Bohnet) measure my bust, butt and waist in prep for weddin’ dress huntin’.
Apparently my waist is 27 1/2 inches in girth. Scarlett O’Hara’s waist size was a mere 17 inches.
I’m not sure how I feel about that.
Then again, she is fictional.
And my love of dessert is not fictional.
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Pitifully punny
Why is it that finding two matching socks in my sock drawer is such a difficult feet … er feat.
Ba dum shhh.
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Freelance tax tactics
Turns out freelancers can count all kinds of things as tax deductions: rent, internet, phone bills.
I’m assuming, however, that my recently acquired coffee habit–and the corresponding coffee shop expenses–don’t count.
Rats.
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Aha!
Last night I finally figured out why I often have to go to the bathroom one, two, three, sometimes even four times each night: My bladder is nocturnal.
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Sigh
The cat currently has it’s head stuck out the slight crack I’ve left open in the sliding glass door that leads out to the patio–an opportunity worth taking to let the warm breeze in the stuffy apartment. The cat’s fat back half isn’t fitting.
Wait a second …
Dah! It did!
I grab the little sneakster and deter the escape.
I shut the door a couple more centimeters.
Escape that, you little farthead.