Random Weekend Quotes

Published May 4, 2014 by sarcasmica

I’ve been telling my husband for weeks that my hair is turning grey at a crazy rapid rate. He’s been scoffing and brushing me off like i’m fishing for a compliment. In reality, i’m just aghast at how much grey hair I have and i need a witness. So today we are walking through a parking lot with the kids when he says, “Hang on, hang on. Let me take your picture.”

This does not happen. Like, ever.

My first reaction: “Why? What’s wrong?”

Liar Face:  “Nothing, I just want to take your picture.”

my ham-head kids line up appropriately in front of me and flash a grin.

*camera phone fake click*

Me: “Again, i say ‘Why?!’ I do not trust you and this is not something you do. You do not ever randomly have a need to take my picture. Ever. Spill it.”

Liar Face: “You guys look cute all holding hands, i just wanted a picture.”

the whole time he’s got this “i have a secret” smirk on his face. I didn’t know if my chonies were hanging out, if I had something in my teeth, a booger on my eyelid, no idea.

Finally he spills the beans after I catch him looking at my head.

“Yea, there’s lots of highlights up there now, kind of a silver hue, right?”

LF: “I honestly never noticed until you were walking outside like this.”

Thanks. I feel like a regular Kate Upton… after eighteen kids and three stints in rehab. Minus the great rack and blond hair. My husband has a way with words.

Later that same day, i’m inspecting my hair in the mirror and just sighing and “oh … my … goodness” -ing at all the evidence of life. On the way to put my daughter down to bed she runs in my son’s room and says: “Gage!! You have to come look at mom’s hair!”  my son asks, “Why?”  “Because it’s turning white !!!”

After running into the hall to check the facts, my daughter is behind me as we walk to her room – finally. Then I hear, “Mom has a big butt.” She says it with that toddler emphasis that makes her eyes bug out.

And this is why my fantasies include tall frosty blended beverages with an umbrella. My frosty cocktails don’t judge me or my round derier !

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