Today I am 37 years old. THIRTY-SEVEN, BITCHES. Sadly, my maturity level still hovers around 21. In celebration, Bubba has decided to make me extra nauseated today. Drugs, accupressure band, Preggie Pop drops – Bubba laughs in their faces. Personally, I’m not laughing so much. But hopefully I’ll feel better in time for the family cookout we’re having this afternoon. Because it’s my flipping BIRTHDAY, and I should be able to enjoy a fricking hamburger and some corn on the cob without my stupid fetus wrecking it for me!
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