Mother’s Day is a sobering reminder that I have children.
Older women have mastered the art of masking condescension as pleasant observation: a righteous skill.
I’m “Conjunction Junction” years old.
She didn’t take shit from anyone and did as she pleased, usually while holding a tumbler glass full of booze.
Feel the vibration, goat.
I think I am a mediocre mother at best.
These kids are going to try to lead the pecking order.
Jesus regrets dying for you.
Zero-star “this novel sucks” Goodreads reviews will make me cry.
You’re giving me the douchebumps.
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