Y’all, I’m white. And I’m not talking ethnicity. I mean, that’s true too. But down to my core, I’m white. As white as the day is long. I still say things like “fo rizzle” and “crack-a-lackin.” Nothing about me is on point, on fleek, or on anything else. I love Friends, I can’t jump, and I’ve competed in an ultimate frisbee competition. I am white.
So when I say things like, “Yeah, we had tacos for dinner last night. I made tortillas and…blah blah blah,” the response is always the same:
This post may contain affiliate links. For my full disclosure policy, click here.
As of the beginning of this writing, it is 10:30 AM on Monday morning and the laundry is completely finished. I am unstoppable. BRING IT ON, MONDAY!
Mondays are hard, aren’t they? Just waking up; it’s almost painful. It was for us this morning. Especially after I had a dream that my husband moved to Florida without me (RUDE). But my 24-year Monday survival rate is 100% so far, so I think I’m doing pretty good.
Let me tell you about our weekend. Friday night, we ate dinner, waited a couple of hours, then ran. (The Texas death heat forces us to run late in the evening, much to my dismay.) It was one of those runs where you literally want to die. We got home and decided to watch a movie (Bourne Legacy, so good!). All that to say, we ended up going to bed really late (we’re old souls that are in bed before 9:30 every night). So we’re laying there, and my husband had already fallen asleep. I was drifting off to sleep, when suddenly …