So this one time, Smarty Pants and I were walking somewhere, and we were talking about stuff…I presume…because I don’t remember it. But he assures me it’s true and that this really happened.
Then he said some stuff about the ocean and then I said something about …um… something else, and then he was talking about…er….whales? Maybe? And then there was some such thing about how stupid some people are, and then I said something really funny like, “Pretty Deep”, but I don’t remember why it’s funny, and I don’t remember if it’s actually that or “Pretty Dumb”.
And you know the worst part? The worst part is that Smarty Pants has re-told me this story, this story *about my own self*, that happened when I was not pregnant, and when I *was* completely sober, and had had a lot of sleep the night before. Smarty Pants has told me this story about my own self at least two times. TWO. Times.
Somewhere in my brain there had better be something really fucking important stored, because I swear to God, it’s taking up space that could be put to good use. Not that it isn’t put to good use now; I mean, have literally no way of knowing.