You can be a winner


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Life.

The game of life. 

There are immense discrepancies between real life and the game of life.  For instance, teachers do not make 100K a year for their salary…and the chance of having twins 3 times is pretty slim. 

Also, you have to get married in the game…but you don’t have to go to college???  What kind of awful message is this to the moldable minds of our youth?? 

What a curmudgeon I am. 

I decided there should be an adult version of the game of life. 

In this game, student loan payments and rent follow right behind payday and leave only enough for a 6 pack of beer flavored water.  A game in which credit cards get stolen and someone else enjoys that European vacation on your dime. 

Where home insurance helps rebuild your home that burned down.  A game where husbands impregnate their mistresses and wives gold dig old, rich men so they can get boob jobs.  A game in which divorce can make or break the bank and where you don’t get to cash your kids in for 50K when you retire, if you make it to retirement…or if you’re lucid enough to know you’re retiring.

Retirement in the real game of life might mean hiring a bitter live in nurse to feed you applesauce and change your squishy bedpan…especially if your children turned into teen moms.

Of course there’s real fun in real life.  I know.  There’s ice cream and sunshine and best friends.  All the great things in the real game of life seem to cost next to nothing.  🙂

As far as the real board game…when we play, we always name our kids.  The lovelies always choose perfectly delightful names for their future children.  Jenny and Jonathan…Jack and Hannah.  I prefer unique names.

My triplets Cheeto, Dorito, and Frito appreciate it…as well as the twins Cocoa Puff and Butter.

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It is time.


The time has come. It’s been a long time coming too.  I’ve worked up the nerve and I am ready.  Nearly 10 years it’s taken….

I’m ready because I don’t care.  I’m not trying to make any sort of impression for anyone anymore. I’m ready because it doesn’t matter to me anymore. 

The time has come to fart in front of my husband without shame. 

I fart proudly. I’m tired of holding them in, making my belly hurt.

This fart’s for you!