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Come on Over

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I love coming home to my sweatpants. My own bathroom that only I use (okay I have a husband). A husband mind you that is boiling chicken and sautéing his own onions and garlic because it's one of his favorite things. I layered them in brown sugar once and he won't allow it any other way now.

I listen to a lot of ridiculous people that call in on the morning country station. I really like the two announcers, but the rednecks that call in are ridiculous sometimes. People pretending like they know the Bible and that think "I guess that could be wrong" but don't really care that their current boyfriend is still married to another woman and it's called adultury. Never crossed her mind before.  But I appreciate the announcers who called her out on that. These people, these people exist and pro-create. Heaven help us. Agency is a blessing, but that veil is super thick for some. 

Yeah, I'm judgmental. Meet my husband. Come over for dinner if you'd like.

There probably won't be enough.

Also, why is it so hard to put up my clothes these days? I'm so quick to change when I get home and it's just so dang easy to leave the sweater on the chest. I pile slowly grows and Mr Smith tries to make sure I realize it's still there. Oh I do. One Saturday morning I'll be full of energy and will make it disappear, but for now, I'll be that teenager.

He's so cute. He's shoving popcorn in his face.

Good night all. We're in for the night.


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