If you’re new around here, confessions is a time for us to all unburden ourselves of the silliness we’re feeling at the moment. I share dumb things, then you share dumb things, and we all have a better day because of it.
Let’s get started!
I cannot sear chicken to save my life. If I see a recipe that says “sear chicken in a skillet”, I AM OUT. It always turns out dry even when I follow directions to the letter.
That’s why all my chicken recipes are just like “place it in the Instant Pot” or “add chicken to the baking dish”. NO SEARING!
It makes me so mad to see celebrities on bikes in
Us Weekly or People The Economist riding around not wearing helmets! PUT ON A HELMET, YOU MORON.
First off, you’re in a city which means there are more cars around, which makes it more dangerous to ride a bike. Second, people are watching; what a great opportunity to demonstrate personal safety equipment. Third, famous people are not immune to head injuries.
My goal as the mom of two boys is to prevent the next generation of mansplainers. And yet, I still have conversations like this:
Me (making chocolate chip pancakes): I need to go get some more chocolate chips from the garage.
Me: We’re out of chocolate chips in the pantry.
Bennett: You have those little ones.
Me: They don’t work well in pancakes.
Bennett: Yes they do!
Me: No, they really don’t.
Bennett: YOU DON’T KNOW
Me: Buddy, it is literally my job to know things like this.
The idea that people are up in arms over mail-in voting leaves me scratching my head. We have been exclusively voting by mail in Washington for 20(ish) years and it is INCREDIBLE. Oh, and it’s more affordable, i.e., it saves tax dollars.
Voting is the right of all citizens and if you can’t protect that right, then meet people where they are. And right now, they’re at home.
All these photos on Instagram of people posting pictures of their bathtubs surrounded by candles and a glass of wine with #selfcare, makes me wish I had a bigger bathtub or I wasn’t 6 feet tall.
Taking a bath in my tub means either I’m freezing from the waist up, or my knees are out of the water the entire time. Neither option is relaxing.
Easily 98% of the time I feel too immature to be a parent. What moron let me have these kids? Shouldn’t there be a test or something?
Ok, friends, your turn! What do you need to confess?