Just a quick one today.
Super quick. Practically a one-liner, really.
I’m not busy or anything, I’m just pretty sure I’m going to piss a lot of people off with this one and I want to get it over with and move on to the torch-and-pitchfork stage.
Don’t stop now – keep reading!
You know that narcissist test where they ask if you have backup dancers?
No? Never heard of it?
Okay, so it’s this thing, not quite a quiz, and one of the statements is “I often visualize myself with backup dancers/singers.” For the record, I’m pretty sure that was the only one I agreed with, but I can’t remember for sure if there were others because my friends were so freaked out by the backup dancer thing (and the assertion that I need a theme song, too) that that became the topic for the rest of forever.
I was going somewhere with that thought… hang on…
Offspring and I are both musically inclined; this is actually one of like four things we have in common, along with eye color, sarcastic bent, and a hard-wired need to be right.
Husband doesn’t just hate musicals: I’ve literally never heard him sing.
We’ve established that I’m not a grown-up, so nothing I’m about to say should come as a surprise to you.
And yet…
You may have noticed I don’t mention the sportsball here. That’s because it’s not really my thing, generally speaking. This is not a secret.
Looks about right.
There are questions never asked here, and I want you all to know that I do appreciate your restraint, your apparent faith in me. There is, however, one question that I get asked in real life that I feel is best addressed here (no, it has nothing to do with managing my staggering sex appeal – seems everyone just assumes I’m completely oblivious to my effect on others); strangely, the question is about this blog, even though, as I’ve alluded a mere eight commas ago (shut up, I do not run-on, it’s called a complex sentence, and the count is now eleven) it’s never asked by anyone who actually follows this blog.
I have alluded, in the past, that Husband is not an actual grown-up. This is because he’s not, and the proof of this is in the fact that he only recently deigned to try guacamole, ffs. Guacamole. The most perfect food ever, at least, that I can think of right now, because I really want some guacamole now that I’ve typed it three times and said it in my head like nine more. Guac-a-mooole… it’s fucking delicious, right? Yeah it is. But Husband was all “nooope, not even gonna try that weird squishy green stuff” and always insisted that he hated it. Finally ate some on a burger last year, now he loves guacamole. So there.
