For a kid, those insults are worse than mean, they’re true.
Honestly, kids aren’t the ones who need to pen letters to Santa Claus anyway.
The turkey is gobbled and the pumpkins are mulch. You’re allowed to decorate. It’s OK now.
We all rushed to get here. When we did, it was electric bills and frozen waffles.
I’ve had a lot of broken washing machines in my life. Only one was literal and the rest were all figurative.
We’re not supposed to talk about these moments. We’re supposed to pretend they don’t happen and hide them behind our shiny social media accounts.
I pictured Ashton Kutcher running into her room and yelling, “We got you, Daddy! Ha! Your friend, God, set you up!”
Cherish the time you have on Earth…or don’t. Whatever. Either way, your time here is limited.
I thought to myself, “Well, that was different. I guess that’s who I am now.”
A voice in my head whispered, “Why did you do that? What do you know about babies?”