I am convinced Aretha Franklin has that disorder that makes her work out incessantly. I woke up last night at 3:00am because I heard a strange noise and she was running in her hamster wheel. I was like “Aretha, this has to stop. Don’t you see how beautiful you are? Don’t You? Don’t You? Now go to bed.” I blocked off her wheel only to be awoken an hour later to her repeatedly scurrying up and down her plastic tube. I told Mike that Aretha has body dysmorphia. He told me that hamsters are nocturnal. HA, YOU ARE SO WRONG. She was in her ball rolling around the house all day yesterday while the dogs chased her and then when I put her back into her cage she ate one kernel of corn and climbed back into her wheel. The sista has issues.
Clearly Aretha thinks if she maintains a svelte figure the kids will not grow bored and neglect her in approximately one week. I wish I could somehow explain to her that her fate rests solely in my hands as I am a thirty-three year old woman with 2 lizards missing tails, an orphan dove, a Yorkie with fake hips, a Shih Tzu with IBS/Alzheimer’s and now a hamster with an eating disorder. I wonder if Florence Nightengale ever thought to herself “Fuck this shit. I am taking care of ME from now on.” Anyway, I can totally relate to Aretha’s need to make an impression so I do not fault her. One time I accidentally ceciled (SP?) myself on my 10-speed bike trying to impress the little dick down the street. He was out playing basketball with his brother when I thought it would be a good idea to stand up on the pedals to show him my skill of standing up on pedals.
I slipped and fell right on my vagina while my paramour just stood there laughing. It hurt so bad I was paralyzed in sheer agony and felt like I was going to throw up. And the real injustice? If I had a set of balls, everyone would have been like OH MY GOD! CALL 911! JUST BREATHE, THE PARAMEDICS WILL BE HERE SOON AND THEY WILL START AN IV! Instead I just limped home with a swollen vagina and never told a soul…. until now. Frankly, I am amazed I was able to have children since my pee shot across the bathroom for a week. In fact, if someone held a gun to my head and said “You can either fall on your vagina again or eat a placenta.” I would totally eat the placenta.
I relayed this story to my sister while I was waiting in the drive-through line at Starbucks today and she was like “I lost my virginity to a chain link fence.” I told her to hold on while I ordered my latte and then said “Proceed.” Apparently in high school, she and some of her delinquent friends were out on a Saturday night tee-peeing houses, while I was home diligently studying so I could grow up and become a housewife.
They were climbing a fence to stage their getaway when she slipped at the top and fell on her vagina. She said it was like giving birth in a New York City hospital without an epidural and a nineteen year-old Polish chick serving as her lactation consultant while fluorescent lights with dead moths in them flickered overhead and a stabbing victim kept moaning in the next room over. It was like an updated rendition of Jacob’s Ladder. Not a fucking joke. THIS shit happened to her. For.Real.
Annnnnnd this is precisely why my sister is a stronger person than me. I would have been SUCH a bitch under those circumstances. Instead she was calm, brave and focused when she chewed through her own umbilical cord since the nurse was taking a smoke break.
The moral of this story: It hurts JUST as much to get whacked in the vagina even though weiners get all the sympathy. And I can’t remember why I told you about my hamster. Have a nice day. XO