“Where’s my damn fiance? He better get back here fast so we can start picking out the fringe on the doileys that will be underneath the soap dishes in the handicapped bathroom of the reception venue!”
I can feel the baby kicking already.
Imagine you’re this poor guy who has to spend the rest of his life coming up with some sugar-coated BS every time she asks, “Honey, do these pants make my butt look big?”
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