I have boys. When they were born, I was a tiny bit relieved that they were boys simply because at the time I was not and never had been a girly girl, and girls scared me with all of the girly-girl stuff and the teenage hormones.
Then I hit 40, turned a bit more girly-girl, and wouldn't mind doing some of the girly-girl stuff (as long as it's not brain-cell killing) with a daughter.
But I have boys.
I also have a steady stream of pee all over my bathroom. Because pee shooting straight out from your penis to the back of the toilet is really funny. Apparently.
I baked those boys some cookies, and when I was putting the sugar bag back up on the top shelf, it tipped over and started spilling. A good portion landed in my bra, and two hours later it's still driving me crazy, which is making me question all of those sex-on-the-beach scenes. I mean really, who are they kidding? Never going to happen and be a good time.
I hate being sick. Nothing gets done. But those drug-induced dreams would make for a great fantasy novel.
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