How To Know You Are Thirty and Fancy Appliances

Well. This is fun. First Saturday I haven’t had to get up at the ass crack of dawn in a while and oh yes. Look at that.

Plenty of time to watch the sun come up.

Over the fucking ice planet of Hoth.

What the hell is wrong with mother nature? As someone with a childhood that allows me to say this, would someone please get this bitch a Depakote and send her to bed?

Please?

This snow needs to stop.

Everyone stop pissing off Elsa. Right now.

I used to think my dad just told me this so that he could contribute in his own little way to my anxiety issues, but his birthday is May 6 and he has said he can remember snow on his birthday.

No.

No, you guys.

Not because I love summer.

I hate summer, actually. I just really need to be able to banish my children to the outdoors for some unsupervised yard play.

Anyhow, I’m up way, way too early so I am of course perusing social media and look what I found!

A way to tell when you’re well into your thirties, you guys!

If this sounds in any way whatsoever like (a) a good/necessary product or (b) something you might someday own, then congratulations! You are either under 30 years old or an alcoholic.

I think that part of what makes single moms over thirty unlikely to need Thrive+(R), which is the stupidest product title maybe ever, is that in order to need it you have to be consuming a large amount of alcohol. Which presumably takes time. But we’re all in bed by 9:24 p.m. every single night and no one starts drinking early enough to be drunk before then.

Unless we’re drinking wine, which we are.

With dinner.

But it’s Sutter Home. Because we are poor. And no one gets drunk on Sutter Home. It’s communion wine. It’s pink lemonade for grown folks.

Sutter Home has an abv of negative sixteen, you guys.

Anyhow. So that’s a thing.

Know what else is a thing?

This fancy white blowdryer.

Mannie owns a salon. Mannie gives me professional styling tools because my hair is her canvas and she wants her canvas healthy, and lush. I told Mannie that my blowdryer, which has been a part of my life for ten years or more, was dying. And that it was upsetting me greatly. Because that blowdryer and I had a real connection, y’all.

😢

She came at me with this super-white thing.

Um.

Is it just me or does the whiteness of an appliance make it seem more fancy?

In promise that in do not intend for this to sound as Nazi-ish as it does. No fascism intended. But for real.

It totally does. I feel like only rich people have white appliances. I feel like you have to pass some sort of credit check to gain access to white appliances.

It feels too fancy to exist in my home.

I love it.

That is all.

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