I would not be permitted to get in Formation.

Tonight I went to a Beyoncé-themed “Frisky Friday” striptease dance class at Philly Dance Fitness, and the 7 months’ pregnant instructor wore kitten heels and twerked circles around my tragic ass.

It was awesomely mortifying and I highly recommend it.

Greasing my emotional pole…heh…

My therapist compared letting assholes get to me with the cops greasing the light poles in Philly after the Eagles won the Super Bowl so dipshits couldn’t climb them: “How do we make it so assholes’ comments slide off you a little easier?”

I tried to convince her that’s what I’m doing with all the mozzarella sticks and stromboli — greasing my psyche — but I don’t think she bought it.

“Did you ever know that you’re my hero [sandwich]?”

Yesterday my mother implied that I’m gonna die if I don’t watch my weight, so I’m not really feelin’ all this “wind beneath my wings” bullshit today.

I AM, however, feelin’ this cream cheese layering a glorious, salty spackle over my hurt feelings.

Happy Mother’s Day!