My Forrest

 

If you don’t follow me on Instagram you should go fix that right now because I’m not retelling all the same stories and jokes here. And I’m certainly not reposting all the pictures.*

 

But if you found your way here from Instagram?** Welcome, and I promise not to I’ll try not to scare you off. This, in case you missed the url and the title of the blog, is the place where I talk shit about my husband by faithfully repeating the things he says and letting you laugh at him. You might be thinking there’s not much material there, given that he’s a brilliant engineer who designs the safest mode of travel currently available and caves to flimsy arguments like, “but the dog is already in our house, so you might as well let me keep it” but five years of more-or-less consistent fuckery speaks for itself.

 

Everyone caught up?

 

Good, because I’m actually starting with an update on Offspring.

(Orange is the New Black) Crazy Eyes holding a mop strikes a

 

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Fur is the New Black

 

I just checked my stats this week, and I’ve got some bad news.

 

Statistically speaking, we are not friends.

 

I mean, obviously I love you because you take time out of your day to come here and read about me—my favorite topic in the world, thankyouverymuch—but there’s no denying that I don’t know and have never met an estimated 99.993% of you.*

 

Woman concentrates while equations flash

Math.  Not even once.

 

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I Think It’s In California?

 

Husband is going to yet another fancy conference for smart people who design things.

 

That’s not what it’s called, of course, but he explained it to me* and I literally felt the 16% of my brain that had been active fuck off and go looking for trouble.  

Basenji in snow booties (so cute!) yo's; text reads, "All I heard was BLAH BLAH BLAH"

But!  Did I let my ignorance stand in the way of my god-given right to complain?

 

You know I didn’t.

 

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My Fall Risk

 

If you are a married person, or a person who is in a long-term relationship, or a person who loves someone very much…

 

cute couple

 

Or even just a person who loves a good laugh at the expense of another human being…

Liar Liar Jim Carrey laughing at annoyed woman

I cannot recommend enough the experience of being The Driver for someone who is having an outpatient procedure requiring general anesthesia.

 

I know, I know… you need me to back up.

 

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First Class Mistake

When last I left you, I was not going to be a sky pirate captain because my husband is a quitter—a died-in-the-wool giver-upper who never supports my dreams.

Angelina Jolie (Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow) in her black uniform and eyepatch, on the deck of her skyship, against a background of clouds and skyscrapers

I’d have had a better hat, though.

I am, as it happens, still not a sky pirate captain.
I am, however, a person who has literally paid for a hotel by the hour, (though I’m sure the good people at Ramada don’t advertise this service) upgraded herself out of the best flight ever, and—because I love you—snapped a photo of the most mockable woman in all of Georgia.
Here’s what happened:

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Or “Buying Stuff”

 

It is a fact universally acknowledged that husbands—not men, mind you, but husbands, who must hold purses and sit in designated creepy chairs or husband playpens—hate shopping.

 

 

Husband contends that the actual issue is that he sees no reason to shop, ever; I shop, he claims, while he buys things.

 

But, whatever the reason—and I’m sure we can agree it can’t possibly be anything to do with my sunny self—I’ve begun to suspect he’s particularly reluctant to shop with me.

 

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