When the Jokes Write Themselves

I was looking at a work calendar and noticed someone is going to the dentist on Valentine’s Day. And though I have the sleeping habits of an 80-year-old woman, I have a teenage boy’s sense of humor. I mean, there are less hygienic instruments one can have placed in one’s mouth on International Steak & BJ Day. Honestly, I would rather go to the dentist.

I, on the other hand, have an appointment with my therapist on Valentine’s Day. Because who doesn’t need a good skull fucking on the worst day of the year? It’s the only day she has available this week and I appreciate the symmetry. The only thing missing from my life is a cat.

On a completely unrelated subject, I’m thinking about buying a Subaru. Just kidding. I also don’t like cats.

A friend and I were talking about our plans to try a local restaurant that serves several types of homemade sausage and we both keep having to stop mid-sentence to avoid calling it a sausage fest every time the subject, uh, comes up. Can’t stop; won’t stop.

The same friend thought I was kidding when I told her she’ll know I’m really serious about finding a man when I spend my weekends at the shooting range. I joke around saying it’s a target-rich environment but seriously…that’s where the men are. And you get bonus points if you actually know what you’re doing. You don’t have to wear makeup or do your hair. I love the smell of propellant (and toxic masculinity) in the morning!

Anyway, I’ll be spending Thursday evening drinking Tullamore D.E.W. on the couch with two very special canines and rethinking my life.

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