They were Big Kids Now, by gum, and just to show us how great and big they were, they had decided to change one another’s diapers. I was in therapy for Post Traumatic Shit Disorder for months. I still can’t have beans, or look at certain Jackson Pollack paintings, without relapsing and screaming for the wipes.
The lottery is a tax on people who are bad at math.
Do men really fake orgasms? Actual questions, posed by real women, and answered by a REAL man. What could go wrong?
Do you remember fractions? You know, seven eighths, two hundred forty-seven three hundred twenty ninths? A third? Do you remember what a pain in the butt that was? No? Me either. The joy of having kids is that you get to revisit ALL your childhood, not just the good parts. Not that the diapers were such a joy, but at least I could speak with some authority. “That’s poo.” (I know poo when I see it.)
Actual questions, posed by real women, and answered by a REAL man. What could go wrong?