After the concerned responses I received yesterday via emails, texts, comments, smoke signals, I want to a.) thank my friends for confirming my belief that I know the best people on the planet and b.) truly reassure you that I AM OK. Maybe that would be a good book title: I’m OK, You’re the Fucking Best.
Anyway, after things got all heavy and cervix-y and PSA-ish up in here I think we’re all ready for a mental palate cleanser/vintage CKD stuff. And you know what that means: dick jokes.
Don’t look at me like that. I’m giving the people what they want!
As I previously mentioned, Ed indulged my delight in all things autumn-related and dorky by taking me to a pumpkin patch so I could get pumpkins and decorative gourds* from a no-shit farm. After spazzing out about the excitement of clipping the pumpkins off the vine LIKE A BOSS/REAL FARMER we headed toward the little country store they had set up with honey, crafts, and my beloved decorative gourds.
Me: “Hey, help me pick out some gourds.”
Ed, handing me one: “Is this OK?”
Me: “Yeah, I like the ones that look like diseased wieners.” *waves gourd around in the air* “And this is why we always wear condoms, kids!”
Ed: “You’re done. Get in the car.”
*Transformation into my mother is 46% complete.