FRILLY DILLY DAY-Y DOO.
You know how in your Gmail, when you order something from most online stores, it has that little “Track Package” button in the SUBJECT LINE of the email? And you can just click that handy highway and it takes you directly to UPS or Fedex or Snails ‘R Us or whatever? I just think that button is genius. Right in the subject line!
This isn’t something I just figured out, by the way. I always think about it. How much do you think dude got paid to come up with that? I KNOW there’s someone out there that knows this.
Before I became an obnoxious blabber blogger, I used to be the office manager at this savvy startup-biz-tech-type place. I have no clue what these guys did, but they were always staring at laptops and grunting about search localization, monetization nation, and other unibrow-induced info. But I feel like coming up with the “Track Package” button in the subject line is totally something they would have created.
And I don’t even care about the actual button really. I just want to know how much they got paid to invent that.
That and the tongue scraper. HOW MUCH? WE HAVE TO KNOW THIS.
I know I’ve talked about tongue scrapers on irrational levels this week, but I just have to tell you.
T O T A L T O N G U E G A M E C H A N G E R. (<–that doesn’t look right to me, but I think I got all the letters in there. Wait, did I?)
I ordered these pups from Amazon, and I’m dying. First of all, they’re copper. I think that means, not only are you stylish with your tongue hygiene, but it also fights off Luporpias and Glycomias and Serialomias and death breath.
These are REAL WORDS STOP TRYING TO LOOK THEM UP.
My bestie Laura got me into the licker grater (<–please why did I have to say it like that?) on our trip to Cabo (and by that I mean she let me use hers because we are disgusting human beings), and there has been a metamorphosis within.
Your tongue . . . it feels DIFFERENT. Like it’s just had a chemical peel. Like it’s just left a super expensive spa day but someone else paid for it. Cool winds blow over it and you go, “oooo!” Just like that. Almost enough to make you a mouth breather because it’s so incredibly refreshing.
I think Will is a mouth breather, by the way. “Close your mouth, please, Michael. We are not a codfish.” (<–name that movie)
I’m all done talking about tongue scrapers. You can wake up now.
This photo right there? ^^^ It’s from my birthday train trip to Hermann. THAT IS A VINEYARD, YOU GUYS.
Holy gah it was so.much.fun. Seven of us ladies hopped an early (ahem, boozy) train across the state of Missouri. I got to toot the caboose horn. I got to wear our car captain’s hat. (probably had lice, but I was two mimosas in, so.) We rode the bounciest Mr. Roger’s Make Believe-style trolley around town and sang Backstreet Boys’ “I Want It That Way” at the top of our lungs. We bebopped from winery to winery, tasting a variety of some great, and some not-so-great Missouri wines. We lounged on the front porch of our rented Grape Expectations house (<–did you expect anything less?) and swapped stories of our rowdy, pre-motherhood party days (also known as staying up past 9:30pm on a Friday). We ate a fabulous pasta dinner at a quaint, local joint. Gut-bombed and wine-soaked, we strolled the teensy path back to our house and all collapsed into bed at exactly 10:13pm.
I’d also like to apologize for the onslaught of singing Trolley snaps and Insta-stories. It was Hermann’s fault. I had no control.
The moral of this story: take a train trip with your gal pals. Celebrate a birthday, a mole removal, who rightly cares. GIRLS ON A TRAIN. Hahahahah!
Ha ah ah ah.
Have you ever noticed that the opening tune on Peppa Pig, “Bum bum bum bum bum, bumbumbumbum bum bum” sounds oddly like a door bell? BUM BUM BUM BUM, BUM BUM BUM BUM.
None of that even worked just now.
(because you need another foot photo in your life^^)
Weekend plans? My mutha is in town visiting (read: helping me keep these kids alive) while Aaron’s on his much-needed dudes trip to Austin. I don’t exactly know what they’re doing down there, but there are swimming holes and fishing rods involved. Fun?
I can’t swim in anything with the word hole in it. I need to see the bottom of the pool. No murk, no alligators, no dead bodies, no Luporpias!
I swear that is a REAL WORD STOP TRYING TO DOUBLE CHECK ME.
(p.s. what are you having for dinner?)
(p.p.s. tongue scraper)