Dear Instagram, I know you listen to my conversations and feed me ads accordingly. I can even tell that you’re having Google read my emails and feed me ads that fit into that.
But whatever you read or heard that made you think I am the type of person to buy leggings based on how they look when I sit on the toilet – that was bad information. Very bad.
And also – I’ve never – not once – emailed or discussed boiling my family for a delicious Spring Stew.
The wine glasses are a nice touch. Stew is always better when steeped in wine. But why are there two wine glasses and a beer bottle for one mother and two small children? If in fact this isn’t just a slow cooker advertisement?
I don’t know which is more offensive – the fact that Barnes and Noble wants my baby to get to coding, or that Amazon thinks I care about my Cat’s IQ. And also I’m pretty sure all cat’s IQs are high enough to fake the test altogether so good luck getting the accurate number you so desire.
And there’s nothing quite like looking up a recipe and getting an ad for toe mushrooms underneath it.
But let’s move onto other sightings.
I spotted this reusable bag the other day, if someone forgot to bring one.
Noah’s school books are constantly testing my ability to keep my serious teacher face on and not laugh like a Junior High boy. I’m pretty sure it’s planned that way to test my holiness.
In a related section…
And then there’s Fran and her impressively sized..wishes.
Can we please leave the bear fat-shaming out of the first grade?
Noah never catches the same things I do.
But this time, he had his own conclusions of what they were going for. He added a tiny protrusion to the drawing, then informed me that the page was wrong because “pooping” doesn’t begin or end with the ch blend.
I get it, Noah. I get it. What kid would assume that bear was supposed to represent crouch.
And finally, we have an issue of local politics we need to discuss.
I don’t know why I follow the city council on Instagram, but I do.
And because of this, I now do indeed know.
Yelling loudly in public.
Now. I’m as much against loud noises as the next guy. Probs way more. But what happened to living in a free country?
And if I see that you’re about to get run over by a car, can I get a one-time permit to be able to yell loudly at you?
And where would I obtain said permit?
Because if it’s at the DMV, you’re definitely dead.
But I will say that this revelation definitely brightened up our family downtown walk on Saturday.
“And this, kids, is the County Jail. It’s where we’ll come visit you if you ever yell loudly in public again.”