(Other than, of course, Breastfeeding in public is totally appropriate and normal, ya'll.)
I am about to share with you something that I loathe, but that every 23-58 year old that I know, have seen, or occasionally end up behind apparently thinks is SOOOoooooo Cuuutttteeee.
Car Decals. Specifically this: Now, why in the hell do I need to know your initials? If I know you, chances are I already know that you are AJC or SOR. And if I don't know you, well, that along with your license plate number and my husband's savvy use of knowing how to look up pretty. much. anything. on the Internet means that I have one more piece of your own personal identity theft puzzle.
And in fact, while we're at it, I don't really like decals of any kind. I actually know what constitutes the Outer Banks of North Carolina, and have vacationed in many spots of that glorious shoreline. Does that mean I need to slap an OBX sticker on my windshield? I think not. Those gaudy flip-flops? Seriously? Are you 12? It reminds me of in high school when as soon as we got our tassels we all hung them from the rearview mirror so that everyone could tell we were Seniors, and therefore Tha Shizz-nit! And don't get me started on those God-Awful car paints now so that I know the name and number of every single rec league softball player in the Triangle.
While we're on that subject, soccer moms, let's take a look at you. Does having a cheerleading sticker, a soccer ball, and one of those God-awful stick figure families on the back of your Honda Odyssey going to make a drunk driver suddenly veer away from your car and over towards the ditch? We would hope, but probably not. Not that you're paying attention anyway what with your Bluetooth in your ear and Spongebob blaring on the DVD player in the back.
Let me lay out a simple rule: if you want to put a political sticker on your car, go for it. When there's an election. Besides that, the only decal I want to see on anyone's back end is the college you are currently attending or a recent graduate of. And by recent, I mean unemployed. As soon as that offer comes across the table, you had better be peeling that thing off, stat!
I like to think that I'm intelligent, irreverent, and sarcastic. I like fancy coffee drinks and have a weakness for exotic food. And comfort food. And fast food. And gourmet food. Basically, I like to eat, I like to sleep, I like to write, and I love God and my family. Come explore life as a working mom with me.