It’s awkward and unpleasant, but if you close your eyes and try your best to relax and not worry about what he can see from his view, you can do it.
Sometimes I feel like a trip to IKEA is a metaphor for my life.
Before I even stepped into Target on Saturday to buy some basic necessities (paper towels, clearance Halloween candy, another black floppy hat) I could feel it in my bones that something was different.
Walking into a Lululemon is a lot like how I imagine Curly Sue must have felt when she got her first really nice bath at the rich woman’s apartment- even though she knew it wasn’t real and probably wasn’t going…
No bikini profile photos/cover photos on Facebook. I don’t want to have to judge my own daughter. Same goes for duck face, “glancing” at the camera from over your shoulder, or provocatively biting your lip. Like I said, don’t make me hate my own daughter for being a creep.
Sometimes I just forget how to be American. Luckily, every year right before Memorial Day a nice thick magazine from Pottery Barn arrives at my doorstep reminding me how to do so.
I looked down to the floor because I typically hate this part. It usually just leads to disappointment. “Barbacoa” I mumbled.
I have OLBA. Old Lady Boobie Anxiety. No offense to all of the old lady boobies out there, but it’s true.
Sweets: You don’t like to think outside of the box, you’re a “stick to what I know” kinda person because chances are you’ve given this one up for the past ten years.
Somewhere along the line it spread through the stay-at-home-mom circle that Target is the best place to bring your screaming child on a Friday morning, because they are everywhere.