Skip to main content

Some day...

There will come a day - some day - when I only have to worry about myself. There will come a day when I will not have to change poopy diapers, wondering whether the substance under my nail is peanut butter or the shit of another person. There will come a day when I will look back nostalgically about getting an enthusiastic hug from a two year old, realizing afterwards that I have a sticky, green substance in my hair and on my shoulder to show for it.

There will come a day when I will laugh about the sweet child who just projectile vomited into my cleavage. That day is not today. Today is the kind of day when I will stare at the clock willing it to be cocktail hour. It's gotta be five o'clock somewhere!

Comments

Anonymous said…
Yes, that Some Day will come, and then you will miss the days of puke between your boobs, snot in your hair and your left shoulder smelling like regurgitated milk (you forget that last one). Yeah, right!

Just remember, 5 o'clock comes TWICE a day everywhere!
Bex said…
Thanks for the words of encouragement, Deb! You're right. I often smell like old cheese due to the yakked up milk thing. I am not sure that I will ever miss the puke between my boobs, though. Especially as I'm wearing my "good" (read: industrial strength, capable of holding up my gorilla boobs) bra. Is it bad that I already know what drink I will have at 5?? I'm going to Cosmo Town, Baby!!!

Popular posts from this blog

And The Winner Is...

I have some very exciting news. For the first time ever the Blog of Bex is giving out an award . Yes, I know. I can feel my heart pounding, too. I will call it the Bite My Ass Award (BMAA) and I'm sure it will be coveted. Now you might be wondering just who will be the lucky recipient. Could it be Diesel, the mastermind of Humor-Blogs and Mattress Police , who - for reasons unknown to me - revamped the scoring system and and reset my score to zero? Nope. This action has actually mysteriously seemed to work in my favor. I'm sure it's temporary. ANYWAY, on to the big news. I hereby give my BMAA to this guy: Handsome little fucker, isn't he? His name is James Jackson, IV and his friends call him Jay. I like to call him Fucktard because I believe that your name should say something about the kind of guy you are. And he's a total fucktard. What, you may wonder, did he do to generate such ire from me? Well I'm so glad you asked. He owns two boutiques in suburban At...

Pervy McPervert strikes again!

When I was a kid I used to make the occasional prank call. But then I turned 13 and decided that it was a fairly retarded way to spend ones time. I've also received a few "heavy breathing" calls in my day. My mom finally bought us a whistle and said that whenever "he" called that we were to blow the whistle as loud as we could into the phone. That worked although I do wish she had specified that before blowing the whistle I should take the receiver away from my head as my ear made this weird ringing noise for days afterward. But it got rid of the pervert. It's a new day, however, and perverts must be looking for new ways to annoy us. Twice today someone has texted a picture to me. I have no idea who he is or what the hell he wants. But he must think that I don't know that sometimes shirtless men squeeze their arms against their chest to give the appearance that they actually have biceps when, in fact, their arms really look like toothpicks that are broke...

Protesting at Funerals: A Look at the Deranged and Demented

I normally like to write about funny things. (At least they are things that I find funny.) They are usually attempts to be funny in a ha-ha kind of way, although sometimes I will throw in something that's funny in a weird way, just to shake things up. But what I want to write about now isn't funny at all. It is shocking and horrific. There was a girl from my home town who was murdered at Auburn University last week. Her name was Lauren Burk and she was 18. She went to our local high school and although I didn't know her many of my friends children did. She's being buried today. Her family is, naturally, heartbroken. It was a random, tragic and violent attack. That's really bad enough. My husband drove by the funeral home yesterday and noticed that there was a small army of Harley Davidson riders holding American flags. They appeared to be guarding the memorial service. It turns out that they were asked to be there to protect the family because a group called the We...