If I was pregnant, the only thing I would be happy about is that I could finally let my gut out after 15 years of sucking it in, it’s time would have come to relax and just be itself.
Upon being asked by my work mates if I wanted to go out for a drink with them after work, my reply was “no….I’m tired, I just want to go home and poo in my own toilet”
I’d say that was a fair call for working on a Sunday, wouldn’t you?
Sometimes I like to linger a while down the pet food isle at the grocery store and fantasy shop for all the pets I don’t have.
My dating life at the moment is about as successful as when I matched with one of the dudes from Alt-j back when I had tinder and sent him the following opening message which got me unmatched instantly….
“Would you rather die by A: being stripped naked, rolled in honey and seeds then pecked to death by common park birds. Or B: ripped apart and eaten by a group of starved, depraved toddlers?”
One of my many terrible opening lines. In hindsight, I guess a simple hello would have sufficed…
When you are driving home really tired, literally the worst possible thing to ever happen to you is having to stop for petrol.
Who wants to watch me rant on and on and on about nothing other than myself and cars?
No one? That’s fine… coz I just learnt how to save the stories you do on Instagram and this one is particularly special, sandwich short of a picnic special. I’ll just leave this here anyway….
Click on rant below