Yesterday I managed to get out of the house.
I buzzed about town as if I owned the place, and you know how much first impressions count. I thought I looked good yesterday, ready to face the world and take it on, but the world said ‘oh no you don’t’…
I discovered when I got home that I’d been walking around all day with a Sponge Bob sticker on my arse. A big sticker at that.
Now this tells me something, in no uncertain terms: Clearly my arse is not looked at by anyone, anymore.
What’s wrong with my arse? How hard would it been for someone to tap me on the shoulder and say pardon me, but isn’t that sponge bob on your butt? I would have been grateful, not just for the heads up, but because you checked out my arse.
Just because my arse is usually dragging six children around behind it, doesn’t make it any less coveted – it does get a lot of exercise, not often sat upon, come on people work with me here.