Dear Diary : My ass is an end table.

Dear Diary,

I was looking in the mirror as I passed my reflection this afternoon and I was AGHAST.

Almost as aghast as when the hubs takes baths. <-- not right.

Just ..

not.

right.

When did my ass become a shelf?

When did this happen?

While I was eating Little Debbie's and watching T.V in bed?

No. That's a TOTAL OUTRIGHT lie I just told.

I don't allow food in the bedroom....

Back to my ass.

I could put coasters, a vase and some cokes on it.

OH MY EFFIN MUFFINS...

ya'll MY ASS .. is an end table!!!
* mouth agape*

It's a cruel cruel world when you have end table ass.

And the day you REALIZE you have end table ass is even crueler.

There's no bathing suit , suited and cut and stretched for END TABLE ASS.

No miracle suit for that shit.

True dat'.