The t-bomb club (TBC) is possibly not the best idea we ever came up with. 8 t-bombs in 2 hours is…well…dumb. They should license that amount of 151. It is a lot of fun though. Molly (pictured here on the right) lobbied hard to get a different level in the club for the lighter, smaller of us (a mere 6 instead of 8). She then ignored the new rules and went for a full blown club. No one said it made any sense. We now have our first lady, queen of the TBC.
Ma (hiding behind me) is buying me pants for my birthday so we’re here
at Dillards shopping. I hate shopping, especially for clothes. Im
always sure I’m going to buy something that looks stupid. I’m just
happy at the sizes I’m buying. These are the smallest pants in the big
and tall section and that is very exciting because next time I’ll get
to go to the normal part of the store.
I had to go to the most evil of stores because I needed the items shown here. I would normally pick another store for such things but I went to PetCo for some extreme necessaries, namely kitty litter and cat food, and Walmart is next door. I hate driving around more than I hate spending money at the empire of Sam Walton. Unfortunately they didn’t have Zesty Vlasics so I’m going to attempt a secondary source of Zesty-ness.