Random Advice

Advice:
Husband. Dear Husband. Please do not bring your personal trainer into the office after your workout while I am drinking a beer and surfing the net. Embarrassing. There you are all sweaty and getting buff and I am, well, I don't want to elaborate about how I feel.


More Advice:
Don't eat this after a guest accidentally leaves it behind at your house. Tastes like dirt. Or perhaps a dirt-worm's rear-end. Perhaps the English translation is "WormTailer".

Targeted Advice to Humongous SUV Driver:
I park "out in the boondocks" for several reasons, which I won't bother to number. For starters, I can't drive worth a plug nickel and I don't want to have to back-out wedged next to another vehicle. Not good for me or you. And, I have to load a kid into both sides of my car. One is still in that carrier that I'm too weak to carry. (Because I surf the internet instead of working my biceps with afore-mentioned personal trainer.) This is hard to do wedged next to the biggest vehicle in the parking lot on the side into which I'm trying to load the carrier. Still more, I'm afraid that you're trying to kidnap me, so I keep looking over my shoulder, keys ready to jab your eyes out. Therefore, I just might ding your car with my door in the process. Speaking of which, this is the exercise I don't mind, walking 13,000 feet to the store, because I don't want to park next to someone who will ding my beloved 1998 (yet beautifully paid-off) recently hail-damaged car that I worship. Furthermore, if you do, I can't mutter "asshole" because my 3 year old will repeat it. Find your own space 13,356 feet away.

Advice No-One Ever Bothered to Give Me. You're Welcome:
Don't buy this for your newborn unless it has batteries. A wind-up version does not go long enough for you to pee while reading a popular gossip magazine article. A really important one.

That was quite cathartic. In a cathartic kind of way. Cathartic.