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Much to my family’s dismay, I don’t want anyone with, near, or even in the vicinity of me when I’m showering.
“Ohhh, she has so much hair! Do you want me to put a mirror down here so you can see it?”
I birthed a beautiful baby. The process wasn’t pretty.
“I can’t seem to find the hole.” My twelve-year-old hands shook, and I dropped a second tampon in the toilet. “Shit.”
The invitation to my husband’s company Christmas party could not have arrived at a better time.
I do NOT recommend this diet plan. Nope. Not at all. This shit is fucked up.
Y’all. It’s possible I’ve lost my mind.
I’ve been christened the “DaVinci of Creepy Doll Parts Crafting.” I’ve never been prouder.
Much to my husband’s dismay, I may have developed a problematic obsession with dolls and clowns.
The answer isn’t “throw them in the dumpster.” Or “douse them with acid.” Or even “incinerate them in a funeral pyre.”
Mr. Foxy and I have a looong history with rescue animals. When we met, I had a rat, and he had a bunny. After we
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