I’m the girl that avoids the paint on the ground in parking lots when it’s raining in the hopes of not falling. That shiz is slippery. Especially when wearing Old Navy flip flops.
I’m the girl that talks things out outloud in the car. People notice. People laugh. Whatever. It’s therapy.
I’m the girl that says as soon as we arrive somewhere, “We’re here. We’re here. We’re here.” It’s usually done in a very awkward child-like voice. What? I’m excited. I bet this tops the qualities Joe is looking for in our kids.
I’m the girl that buys heels and usually ends up wearing flats 90% of the time.
I’m the girl that dances in the kitchen then spills flour everywhere because belting out Ships in the Night by Mat Kearney at a proclaiming, declarative stance causes the introduction of flour bombs to our clean floor.
I’m the girl that daydreams about car accidents, deaths and the end of the world instead of unicorns and fairies.
I’m the girl that enjoys the dust on the fingers instead of the chips themselves. There’s something about the taste of finger that really flavors the cheesy dust from Cheetos and Doritos.
I’m the girl that prefers a good squeeze from a squirmy cat then the lick of a furry, happy puppy. I get a little pleasure hearing Apollo meow incessantly as I squeeze and coddle him when I get home. Is this a bit sadistic?