Back to Our Regularly Scheduled Programming

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.

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