Women Will Lie About

1. Her age. The older a woman gets, the less she wants to admit how long she's been around.

2. Her weight. It really isn't important that we've gained a few pounds over the years, is it?

3. Her clothing size. Those things are just too damn confusing anyway so who could get it right?

4. Her number of lovers. One too many and you look sleazy and who knows exactly what one too many is?

5. Her phone number. Sometimes a simple no isn't enough for the persistent pest. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

6. Her true hair color. Like we're going to admit to having grays?

7. Orgasms. Sometimes it's just easier to fake it.

8. Her bra size. Feeling the pressure of the bigger the better.

9. Other women. Sure we say so and so is fat, but it's because we'd kill for her hair.

10. How much we spend. Wouldn't you feel guilty if you spent that much on a pair of shoes?

Backseat Drivers

We’ve all experienced it – the pain in the ass of having someone bitch and complain about your driving from the backseat of your own damn car. Nothing pisses me off more than having to pay attention to not only the road, but also what the dumbass behind me is saying. I hate being told what I’m doing wrong while driving. It annoys me more than running off the road while trying to text my therapist.

I have devised a plan to deter those who criticize my driving ability. As soon as I begin to hear the moaning and groaning, I will simply pull the car over, look the offender dead in the face, and say you have been warned -- another word and I'll give you something to bitch about. I will then continue my journey and if another word is uttered, I will turn the journey into the ride from hell.

I will speed. I will weave in and out of traffic. I will tailgate. I will fail to use my turn signal as I pass along the shoulder. I will use my brakes harshly. I will drive so bad that the offending party will never want to ride with my ass again. Problem solved.

Backseat drivers deserve to be under your car instead of in it.

Darling Little Dick Doll

I am so sick and tired of Dick and his fucking antics. The man said we are over, packed his shit, and left the kids and I, yet he insists on texting me every damn day and makes up excuses to come over. Now that the grass is dormant and doesn't need mowing and he has changed the oil in my car, I do not need him over here for anything (except maybe for sex, but technically, I could get that anywhere). Enough is enough!

I've tried telling him that he didn't need to text me at all and that he wasn't welcome back home, but it goes in one ear and right out the other. Remembering that he said all men are visual creatures, I knew I had to think of some other way to reach him. I had to show him exactly what the hell NO meant.

Rummaging around the house, I had a brilliant idea. Most of Dick's shit had been sold, dumped, or boxed up and put in storage. He did have a few pairs of socks left in his drawer. My creativeness took over and before I knew it, I had made myself a lovely Dick doll. I proceeded to shove a fork in its side and take a picture. I then sent it via text to Dick with the following message:

Leave me the fuck alone or your dick will resemble the doll in the pic. Now fuck off!

Needless to say, it has been rather peaceful ever since. I'm not sure how long it will last, but I will enjoy it while I can. Now if you'll excuse me, FedEx just arrived with my brand new meat cleaver.