Oh.

We all make mistakes. We all hate to admit we make them. Oh sets them free for you.

In the 6th grade I told everyone that this girl, Jessica, who was a year older than me was my half sister from my mother’s first marriage. The facts are that I’m an only child and the closest J was to being my halfsie was that she lived a few doors down from me. Oh, and my mom had only ever been married to my dad. Cool, huh? Oh.

Not so long ago I was out doing some shopping and in a foul mood. (Let’s hear it for retail therapy!) When I came out of the store there was a shiny Mercedes parked next to my Xterra. Did I mention that they were only pulled up halfway into the space, crooked, and semi blocking my way out? Well, then that explains me scraping up their nicely painted rear bumper with my slightly less expensive rubber one. It doesn’t? Oh well.

Sometimes I don’t think soup qualifies as a real meal. So I eat another. What, that’s not ok? Oh my.

:: via Mackin Ink

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