May the fourth be with you.
Congregation: “And also with you.”
I have lost my seem ripper and I have no one to blame but myself. Well, no, I can also blame my mother. She borrowed my seem ripper last week because she had put hers in a “safe place” and then couldn’t find it. After she used my seem ripper I put mine in a safe place and now I can’t find mine.
I hope both seem rippers are in the same safe place making seem ripper babies.
What’s a seem ripper, you ask? Stick to the point. I have lost something and need someone to blame because that is what I do. When I get frustrated I will make the craziest connections in order to have the person to blame right in front of me so that I can lecture the hell out of them.
It almost never fails. When my husband and I are out shopping with the kids on the weekends, I will become irate and find a way to blame everything on him. The stores are crowded, my kiddos are going nuclear and I have to pee and none of that would be happening if he hadn’t brought home the wrong hot dogs for dinner last Thursday night.
Stay with me here…I specified Hebrew National and he came home with Oscar Mayer pink-fucking-tube wieners. Gross. So, while he and the boys are okay eating pink tubes, I cannot. They taste like bologna…I can’t do that shit either. Or braunschweiger which is like bologna paste, basically. Seriously, stick to the fucking point here. Mike ruined my life with hot dogs.
So, there they are being perfectly happy eating their hot pink tubes while I had to eat what was originally supposed to be our side dish for the following nights dinner. That meant that during Mike’s lunch break on Friday he had to pick up something for dinner. That meant that he couldn’t run to Michael’s to get the yarn I needed to make a baby blanket for my friend’s impending baby. That meant that we had to go to Michael’s over the weekend. That meant I was in a store, on the weekend, when everyone else was there doing their best to walk slowly, take up too much isle space and just be all kind of in my way. That’s why it’s Mike’s fault. It really has nothing to do with the fact that I don’t run the errands my-fucking-self. Nope, not my fault.
So, the fact that I obviously didn’t put my seem-ripper back in it’s correct spot after my mom had borrowed it is HER fault. Now the straps of my tank tops will be too long and everyone will see my bra and my sterling reputation will be ruined along with my life due to pink hot dogs.
By the way, this is a seem ripper. If you see mine, please tell it to come home. I miss it.
**Update: Turns out my mom took my seem ripper home with her. It really IS her fault. Fuck, I knew I was always right. Better go take down those “Missing Seem Ripper” posters.