I do not have a penis, yet I purchased a home.
I know. This is amazing news. News that apparently you have difficulty believing.
My husband, the one who gets several of your spectacular offers via mail daily in his name alone, did not purchase a home. Oh, his name is on the deed, but on the mortgage? Nope. He just changed not only jobs but job fields, and the mortgage industry is a bit picky about that. Didn't even care about his 800+ credit score, not in this market. We don't care because our house is our house, but you? Apparently you care. Because somehow this is 1950 and sweet gals like me couldn't possibly buy a house by themselves. Perish the thought! You remind me of those ladies in my old church who thought it was really "cute" that I had a "little job" to help my husband out. In case it's not obvious, this is not a good association.
My favorite offer was the one he got yesterday asking him to buy mortgage insurance at a spectacular rate. Funny, since he doesn't have a mortgage and can't even purchase it. Funnier still, I don't buy anything from sexist douchehats.
So. Good luck with all that.
PS: Not really kisses. I hate you.
Dear this guy,
Really. What the actual hell is wrong with you?
I know you want everything five minutes ago, and believe me I want you to have everything five minutes ago, for no other reason than it would make you shut up and leave me alone. I can't give you everything five minutes ago, though. So please stop calling me and telling me about and/or asking me about everything every ten minutes. I was on the phone almost four hours straight yesterday and am not even embarrassed to say I muted so I could pee. Twice.
Inappropriate? Yes. But no more inappropriate than you calling me hinty billion times to ask me the same things. I pinky-swear I will tell you when things change. That's what I do.
PS: Not really kisses.
My daughter? She knows who her dad is. It's totally okay to just hand her something and say, "Can you please give this to your dad?" She's familiar. No need to say, "Your dad? Jason? You know? Um...your dad?" She knows. Promise.
Perhaps you are just uncomfortable with children. If that's the case, I'll give you a pass. But honestly, calm down. We're really nice, even if we talk about the Bee Gees, armed robbery, and buttholes a lot. It's not like we're talking about them in the same sentence or anything.
Okay, except that one time. But usually not.
Anyway. Have a nice day!
(Jason's wife. Since apparently no one on my street can remember my name, but everyone in all the land knows Jason)
Have you seen this?
First of all, I'm very sorry about the fire. That's awful. I hope everyone is fine.
Also, and more importantly, I totally want to be friends with Sweet Brown. Seriously. I'm fairly certain I could talk to her all day, every day, for the rest of forever and never be tired of her. I'll go get a cold pop with you anytime Sweet. We will bring Jesus with us, since he's an important part of both our lives.
Also, big props to the newscaster who was VERY SUPER SERIOUS the whole time. She deserves a Daytime Emmy. Or whatever they give newscasters, I have no idea.