I’m listening to Michelle Obama’s audiobook, and she’s describing how Barack proposed to her in a restaurant. The server brought the dessert plate and lifted the fancy lid, and there was “a dark velvet box where the chocolate cake was supposed to be.”
And, OK, fine — yay, congrats, mazel, etc.
But also, um… You’re still gonna bring my cake, right? It’s just backstage somewhere?
I feel like she really glossed over the important part.
Y’all, I may be dead inside and stuck in heinous rush hour traffic, but even *I* can’t keep this dipshit look off my face listenting to Michelle Obama recount her early courtship with Barack. JESUS, people, I’m not made of wood. This shit is cuter than a Hallmark movie about kittens wearing tiny sweaters. COME ON. #IAMBECOMING
Perhaps I’m a little too irritable to start an audiobook about the connection between obesity and clutter…
Also, I swear it’s a joke — I know we already have QUITE enough bloated, size-queeny, too-fat-to-function patriotism.
Oh, hey… Kiss my dick, Amazon.
Text to a friend: “I didn’t know that was weird until my therapist told me.”
This should be the title of my debut novel.
Once again, Amazon taking the boldest of leaps with my search terms…