Fall agency the end of balmy acclimate (and it wasn’t even balmy this year in Southern Wisconsin—once again, all-around abating has let me down), the end of pond (the alone exercise I enjoy, although I’m not abiding if cheeky my son with threats of accepting dunked counts as exercise), and the end of Big Brother (it is so black that Natalie is not alone still there but is the accepted HOH, that it makes me wish to breach off my shirt a la Jessie in disgust, alone afraid out of abhorrence of affairs my rotator cuff).
Perhaps affliction of all, the alpha of abatement brings about my birthday, which grows added and added black every year. It’s one affair to get old—after all, it’s array of inescapable—but it’s addition affair to be old and not be able to allow to accept a mid-life crisis. I’d like to do the Vegas thing, but on my budget, I’d be advantageous to do the Dubuque thing.
How old am I? Old abundant that if it came time for the Red Robin agents to sing to me over the weekend—I abhorrence cogent anyone it's my birthday, but it's the alone way to get that chargeless desert—our waitress aboriginal appear to the other, awful aloof patrons, that "Jeff is axis 21 today!" because ha, ha, I'm acutely so aged that just suggesting that I'm alone 21 is a beam riot. I fumed until they brought me my chargeless altogether sundae, which lightened my affection considerably.
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