When one door shuts and another opens, you’re in prison.
The older I get, the earlier it gets late.
If I say, “The other day,” it means some time between
yesterday and fifteen years ago.
I had my patience tested. I’m negative.
If you lose a sock in the dryer, it comes back as a
Tupperware lid that doesn’t fit any of your bowls.
If you’re seated in public and a stranger sits down beside
you, stare straight ahead and ask, “Did you bring the money?”
If you ask what I’m doing today and I say, “Nothing,” it doesn’t
mean I’m free. It means I’m doing nothing.
I finally got eight hours of sleep. Took me three days, but
whatever.
I hate when a couple argues in public. I missed the beginning
and don’t know whose side I’m on.
If someone asks what you did over the weekend, squint and ask, “Why? What have you heard?”
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