1. My mother once called me a skank

Ok, maybe not in quite so many words, but I swear that was the take home message. It was during university and after going out on a date with yet another older electrician that I met at the local bar, I commented to my mother that there were a lot of tradesmen who frequented the establishment. She replied “Of course they hang out there- it’s where all the horny co-eds are.” And I was all “Did you just call me a horny co-ed?”*

2. My baby is infested with ferrets

Have you ever had the experience of meeting someone with horrific halitosis and you’re like “Sir, I don’t know you, but I’m fairly certain that something has died in your mouth. You may want to make the acquaintance of a dentist.” Or at least that’s what I think to myself in those situations. Anyways Mini-Tex started solids and the last three days he’s been “eating” apples. “Eating”  in quotations because in actuality, our entire living space is covered in apple goo and Mini-Tex imbibed three spoonfuls. He hadn’t pooped in a couple of days, apparently because he was plotting to kill me. I opened up his diaper and gagged from the scent. Whatever deceased ferret that inhabits strangers’ mouths with halitosis has taken up residence in my son’s colon. And invited its whole zombie ferret family. Hurray for solid foods.

3. My last bathing suit decomposed on my body

This sounds less gross than it actually was. That was a lie, it was pretty disgusting. As a hater of both shopping and needless consumerism, I wore my last bathing suit until it wanted to fall off my back. I use the word “wanted” because if it had fallen off, I would have sewn it back on and kept right on swimming. Unfortunately, it decided to die on my back. And chest. And legs. Instead of putting the offensive article out to pasture like any rational person would after fifteen years of service, I continued to wear my bathing suit as the elastic which helped the suit to keep its shape, gradually disintegrated on my body each time I wore it, smearing black indelible stripes onto my pasty white skin. I’ve since bought another of this kind of quasi indestructible swimsuits, I plan on wearing it to the pool when Mini-Tex is a teenager so he has a genuine reason for not wanting to be seen with me.

4. I’ve started wearing ass-less chaps

It’s the latest in MILF fashion. Actually, not really, but I have started wearing pants because skirts just don’t work when you’re crawling around on the floor after a baby. Also, I donated all of my skorts after my friend Charity, of the stripper name and PhD, pointed out that just because there are shorts underneath, doesn’t mean that you can sit with your legs open like a model posing for Maxim. As a result, I’ve been living in my one pair of cargo pants. However after a visit to the local play place and approximately 3,908 trips down the bouncy castle slide, I’m fairly certain the butt is see-through.

5. Guess who’s the newest member of Hell’s Angels?

It’s probably not me, but I think I still should get points for walking by the house of a biker gang every single day when I take Mini-Tex for a walk to put him to sleep. The home might not actually belong to the Hell’s Angels, however, I always see at least four bikes parked out front that change each day. And sometimes they ride by me in a group while I’m out walking so I feel like I’m in the newest “Fast and Furious” movie. At the very least, if I go missing, the internet now knows where to find my body.

*In case you’re wondering, she did, my mother totally called me a horny co-ed. It wasn’t like the time that I made up a story about her pushing me down a hill and then yelling “Look at the fat girl! Look at the fat girl!” while I tumbled. Despite the fact that this event never occurred, my mother received much judgment at her gym for it after I spouted the fictional tale loudly in the lobby. My mother has respect for people of all shapes and sizes, except for young ladies looking to get their skank on apparently.