The Suburban Jungle

Because wearing a sign of your faith on your thong was just taking things TOO far…

(A conversation with one of my single, straight, male friends…)

Me: “Dude, parent pickup is getting crazy.  It’s like prison-rules out here.”

John: “Are people sagging their pants?”

Me: “What?  No…I live in a really good neighborhood.”

John: “Well, if they’re not sagging their pants, it’s not like prison at all.  Although, if they WERE sagging their pants, they would be advertising that they’re after something more than just picking up their kids.”

Me: “I’m pretty sure that when you’re at parent-pickup with a halter top, breast implants, two pounds of make-up, five-inch heels, and skin-tight jeans with ten-pounds of rhinestones on the ass, that you’re communicating that you’re JUST as available for butt sex, as any given prison inmate.”

John: “Where do your kids go to school again?”

Me: “I’m not telling you, now, pervert.”

Don’t Look a Gift Boob In the Mouth

Smallest. Pasties. Ever.

Me: “Okay, everybody out of timeout and get dressed. You’re going to Grandpa’s, so I can go to my appointment.”

Caolinn: “Where are you going?”

Me: “To have a mammogram.”

Xavier: “What’s a mammogram?”

Liam: “It’s when you go look at a mammoth.”
30 seconds later…

Xavier: “Why do we have to get dressed?”

Caolinn: “Shush, Xavier, just get dressed…mom’s boobs just saved us from time out.”