The other day my bestie asked for wedding etiquette advice. Her fiance wants to invite his ex to their wedding since their son is going to be involved. She asked if D and I were inviting our exes to our wedding. I was like um no. The last thing they want to do is watch us get married, and I guarantee his ex feels the same. I will be legitimately happy for my ex if he ever gets married again, but I sure as shit don’t need to see it. That is a rabbit hole I have no interest in ever going down.
I would like the record to reflect that I’m currently wearing a fucking scrunchie. Now it’s a modern, streamlined version of scrunchie, but a scrunchie nonetheless. Oh and I’m also wearing a cat shirt. So this should give you a good idea of how few fucks I have to give about fashion today.
Something I’ve been considering lately: would I even like myself if I met myself?
After these long weekends without the kids, I always get a bit upset thinking about how they have these separate lives that we really know very little about. It makes me sad.
I’m the kind of person who blasts the air conditioning and then covers myself with a blanket as I sit next to a space heater. Doing that very thing right now.