Last night my husband decided it would be funny to call me a snuggle whore.
I was all, "Did you just call me a whore?"
And he was like "A snuggle whore."
"So, you're seriously calling your 6 month pregnant wife a whore?"
Then he looked even more pleased with himself and has now decided to call me a "pregnant, snuggle whore."
Speaking of whores, when I was a kid they were everywhere. Gypsy whores specifically. I don't know where my mother and grandmother's obsession with gypsy whores came from, but it was the reason to tone down your fashion a lot.
As in, you can't wear dangly earrings (my favorite to this day) because those are for Gypsy whores. As in, little girls shouldn't have red nailish polish because they'll look like Gypsy whores. As in, red and pink or red and purple don't match and if you wear that outfit you'll look like a gypsy whore. As in, Gypsy whore bath, which is where you take a bird bath in the sink. This was later called a PTA bath by my grandmother whose shocking statements became great fun in her later years. PTA stood for pitts, tits, and ass. Cuz those are the important parts you wash when you use a washcloth to clean up instead of taking a proper shower.
Thought you should know.
In other news, I have not forgotten about posting about Belize. I'm just crappy at getting pictures from the camera to the computer. I might have just brought it in to load from work, but I put some pregnant, gypsy, cuddle whore pictures on the camera that are for Rob and not so work appropriate, so it'll have to wait.
Happy Flag Day! If you've missed the joy of Flag Day for all or most of your life, the deal is this: You watch bad movies, drink beer, and eat burritos. The bad movies are key. This year, I'll be foregoing the beer and the group festivities. Which is a bummer, but I will be watching Thankskilling streaming on Netflix. Feel free to join me, gypsy whores.
Victor has lost his damn mind. Medically.
2 days ago