Join a nudist colony.
I believe we should become members of a naturist community.
Goshdarnit! I deeply care about the planet. However, I don’t even recycle, which makes me a very hipster, and I also don’t consider being green. The only logical thing seems to be not doing it.
“Don’t attack me. None of these items are used by us, with the exception of milk containers and newspapers, as it is no longer available in my area, which is the sole reason I don’t participate in recycling.”
But, the thing is, I don’t want to join a Fit nudist colony, do you? It’d have to be Frumpy nudist colony.
Perhaps a clothing-optional community/weight loss retreat? Are such establishments available? If not, they should be.
Individuals, a camp that is not easy for those who are overweight and soon quite attractive, I would be eating cheese and doing squats and deep knee bends all day. It would motivate the members, although it might backfire on me. We could begin.
But…. muffins.
Granny underwear that sits high on the waist can be worn by mature adults who prefer a larger size in jeans or yoga pants. With the help of flat tabs, I can keep my tummy under control. The thought of it is quite scary, and I wouldn’t know what to do with my muffin top if I were to give her some breathing space in the room.
Furthermore, there is a possibility that she will seek retaliation in the future. She still holds some resentment towards me due to the Waxing Incident of Which We Do Not Speak (details to be provided later). Additionally, she has the ability to infiltrate various situations, such as interacting with young children and adorable dogs. If I were to provide her with ample space, she might expand like Jabba the Hut, displaying her ability to adapt and navigate.
It is not advisable to encourage their sons to flaunt birthday suits, especially in family affairs, as it speaks of disturbing nonchalance with body parts at usually inopportune times.
(“Underdogs make my weenie tickle!”) Shouting, swinging at the park or pastors conversing with (“Did you know weenies can grow?!”) When like.
An alternative laundry solution.
My other idea, if the whole nudist colony doesn’t pan out (or if they reject our application for membership), is disposable clothing.
When I had babies, I came up with this idea of constantly pooping yellow stains and making onesies out of them. Pop-up onesies that come in a tissue box!
How can I become a contestant on Shark Tank?
Another use? Seriously? Additional documentation? Let it go.
I could either threaten the person next to me who casually flips their socks into my empty hamper, or I could just finish the laundry.
Washing jeans less frequently is better for the environment, but it’s also a personal preference.
You know the one:
Shake, shake, sway, pour, moan, kick, extend, gasp, weep, ooze, shake, rest, suffocate, whine, encourage Gloria.
A laundry-minimizing game.
We really enjoy playing games. At my house, I enjoy picking up my husband’s jeans from the dresser and folding them, as well as taking them out of the hamper. You didn’t do anything, not even wear them for a single day, while I muttered under my breath.
Naturally, he is unaware that we are engaged in a game.
I think this is why moms who homeschool don’t wear denim jumpers, because they’re not fashionable and also because they’re too busy homeschooling, so they don’t have time for such nonsense as writing letters to the Homeschool Association rejecting my membership or threatening something or Gloria.
The waxing incident of 2002 of which we do not speak.
So my blogging window is limited because we’re totally stealing internet access from our neighbor’s because the router we bought was bad.
I only get a sliver of a fraction, a half, or a percentage of the bar if I place myself precariously on the side of my Craigslist mattress, like a cheese sandwich, folding the computer towards the window.
Kind individuals are those who enjoy country music, and they engage in yard work while indulging in country melodies, hence I believe our neighbors would not object. I am certain of this.
Anyway, before I quickly write a blog post, a sliver of a fraction, half, or a percentage bar becomes void and disappears into the wide world web graveyard, poof!
Lifeless zones accompany me. It’s strange. I’m like those people who cannot wear watches because they are magnetized or some similar issue.
Luckily, WordPress saves what I’m writing every few minutes, except when it comes to allowing people to leave comments, then they twirl their handlebar mustaches and leave those comments tied to the railroad tracks where I never see them again.
Recently, I’ve been a little obsessed with my hair. I sweetly told my husband that I bought a new razor to trim my hair. However, it’s just beyond irritating that I can’t seem to find the other stuff I bought. It’s frustrating because my budget is tight and I need to save money.
During those three months, it felt like I was shaving with rough construction paper. It had been nearly six months since I got a new razor. It wasn’t exactly six months, but I almost felt guilty for having a shiny new green razor displayed beautifully on my shower wall. Could you please stop spending money recklessly, darling? Oh, by the way.
Can I remind you that I am a fair-skinned individual with dark hair?
I am not one of these lucky blonde girls who only have to shave bi-annually. We are talking daily in the summer, even playing sports at five o’clock, with our shadows on my ankles during dinner time.
I know, I know. This is really more than you want to know about me. Be quiet. I’m sharing my soul here.
I refused to feel guilty about splurging on a good razor, even though it was a freaking sign of death. It almost made me bleed, that cut on my shin bone, and I didn’t even care enough to take care of it.
However, unfortunately, the entire acquisition ended up causing me trouble.
I cannot be held responsible for what I say when I suffer from a condition called Tourette’s Syndrome, which basically means I tend to have scary movie previews or movies with scary blood loss crash into the middle of the night, rocking our sleeping house with a ginormous crash. We’re talking about a huge crash that happened late last night.
I don’t have any worries at the moment. The toilet paper or cupboards are empty, the drivers are bad, and I can’t be held responsible for the smells I confront when I say what I suffer from, which is Tourette’s Pregnancy.
Excellent. Now I desire to have a child.
The conclusion that made me jump to a logical conclusion was that zombies, alien mutants, were coming through the window, but the only thing hanging nicely from the wall shower was the new razor. I suspect it was supposed to be hanging there, but it fell off, crashing from my bathroom wall shower. However, I had to quickly retreat back to avoid any harm.
Mutated extraterrestrial zombies with oddly sleek legs to top it off…
Anyway, returning to my hair anecdotes. Time to confess: my navel becomes slightly fuzzy when carrying babies.
That whispering noise you just heard was the sound of all males departing from their computers in disgust.
Alright, now that it’s only ladies present, let’s gossip!
I develop a belly like an adorable small fuzzy peach. Or a kiwi.
The brilliant idea I’ve had for eight months, while being pregnant, is to use this hot wax thing in my bathroom cupboard. It seems like someone’s braincells have leaked out recently, as it appears to be a super dooper logical concept that has been ages in the making.
What? Your brain cells don’t perform that function during pregnancy? Huh. Fascinating.
I wait patiently as Gianni, my little poor and bouncy belly sasquatch, practices his own stunts and swims around inside like a fish. Despite the hot wax smeared all over me, I find it quite enjoyable.
Can you grit your teeth and endure it for just two seconds? Who cares if you’re messing with your skin, it’s worth it. It’s like having a centipede on your eyebrows, but it’s the best I’ve ever had them done. Isn’t that right? It’s fast, at least, but if you’ve never waxed before, it can be a painful procedure.
We’re discussing real estate, where wrestlers transport the mentioned provisions, furnishings, and luggage, all while a sumo wrestler with a massive belly of eight pounds holds them.
It goes without saying that Pregnancy Tourettes made an appearance.
I pleaded with the Waxing Gods to spare my life, begging for mercy and for all the wax to be removed. However, my pleas went unanswered and I did not escape without finally obtaining what I sought.
Kittens adore everyone. One, you know? Kittens have affection for anyone and everyone. A kitten, like a cute and chubby little creature, has a round belly that I will lovingly cuddle, just like I would with a kiwi. If I ever become a child again, that is.
Upon reflection, it is not surprising that Gianni was bald.
These are the sorts of things I think about when I get worked up about how much I hate laundry. So, enough.