I’m sorry to one-up you, but my ex-husband’s family would only travel to towns that had Cracker Barrels. They used one of those paper placemats that have all the nation’s CBs marked on it as a guide. Ex. Husband.

We will require more pictures.

I read posthaste as toothpaste.

Of course, now I’m wondering what we could get in trade for Florida.

You are marvelously practical. A visionary, even.

Reminds me of husbands/boyfriends who say, “I’d help around the house if you’d just tell me what you want to do!” JFC, man. Look around you and do what needs to be done.

But what happens when something happens that’s NOT on the imaginary List Of All Things That Are Creepy? Is the guy who does the non-list creepy thing absolved? “BUT IT WASN’T ON THE LIST! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW?”

I literally said ZINNNNNNNNNNNNNG when I read that. My dog is perplexed.

We. ARE. Establishing the rules. Right here. You just don’t like them.

Why is it on women? Can’t men possibly use their giant throbbing man-brains to figure out how to maybe alter their behavior until women start to actually be comfortable?

Use your words. Use nice words. Polite words. Non-pushy, non-pervy, gentlemanly words.

When my daughter was 3, I worked at a university, and my parents had an anniversary. She referred to both as “unaniversarity” for a bit. It was cute. THIS is not cute.

This all upsets my stomach. I am calling this ailment Trumparrhea.

Best comment ending, ever.

That’s an oddly soothing image.

Well, fuck a duck. I’m sorry.

Your smartypantz words give me special feelings.

Oooh! Can we keep him just long enough to get into UFOs?

OMG “Please dinosaurs, lay down already and make oil.” made me laugh so hard my dog peed a little.  

Voila. No longer grey!