So, Hubs, here's what not to do for me this Mother's Day if you have any hopes of repeating the act that made me a mother.
Contort my stubby legs and T-Rex arms into a pathetic pretzel while my boobs produce enough sweat to drown a grown man? Nah'maste right here in this chair. Thanks, though.
Speaking of my boobs--which I do often because they're kind of hard to ignore. I mean, these things are a BIG part of my life. My cups runneth over. You know what I'm sayin'? As such, squishing my ample girls between two cold metal plates is not my idea of a suitable Mother's Day gift. I realize you're concerned about my health. So take that $100 and buy me a juicer instead; because I'm likely to put a vice grip on a couple round things on your body if you buy me a mammogram.
This is tantamount to me giving you water for Father's Day. Or dog poop. Or something else of which we currently have an unlimited free supply. Yeah, I realize our grandchildren's grandchildren are at risk of wearing gas masks to the treeless, grassless, Styrofoam-littered community park, but that's their problem.
Fifty Shades of Grey DVD
I'm sure some moms are all twitchy with anticipation of getting this on Sunday. Well, I've seen the movie and it was about as sexy as watching a Dave Ramsey get-out-of-debt podcast. I'd rather be spanked with a riding crop--across the face--than sit through that drivel again. If I wanted to see a sadist get his jollies beating someone, I'd watch The Itchy & Scratchy Show. Besides, the mouse and cat have better chemistry.
Hey, I know! Let's both get our no-no spots waxed. You first.
Well, Hubs, I hope you have a better understanding of what not to do to make my day special. If not, I may have to take you into the "red room" and beat the shit out of you, you know, in the name of romance.