“you’re only 18, you’ll regret that tattoo when you’re older” my mom says as she hands me college applications so i can decide on the career i’ll have for the rest of my life
If Goldilocks tried three beds, then Momma Bear and Daddy Bear slept separately. Baby Bear is probably the only thing keeping the family together.
You ain’t have to put those people business out like that.
Y’know, the story straight-up tells us why Mama Bear and Papa Bear sleep in separate beds: they have very different needs in terms of mattress firmness, and those fancy responsive mattresses that can be soft on one half and firm on the other hadn’t been invented yet. There’s no shame in valuing your spinal health.
The fact that they’re secure enough to admit that they’re better off in separate beds probably indicates that they have a very healthy relationship built on a foundation of mutual love and respect.
The year is 2082. I’m 89 years old. I’m dying, surrounded by my large, devoted family. I prepare my final wishes as my children hold my hand.
“Divide my assets amongst yourselves, sell the house to start college funds for the grandchildren, and throw my ashes into the ocean. All I want is a small plaque by my childhood home with my name and dates, saying “Rest In Deace.”
My oldest leans in, confused, “Do you mean ‘Rest in Peace,” Mom? What does deace mean?“
I beckon him closer with one hand, and move the other a bit further down the bed.
“Deace nuts, bitch.”
My family screams in horror as I flatline and immediately descend into Hell.
i don’t feel like a real adult, i just feel like tommy and chucky in that one rugrats episode where they imagine being grownups they have adult bodies and are wearing suits but they still have their baby heads and they’re trying to drive and go to work and stuff but they don’t understand what’s happening
