I got this idea from Glamour magazine. They have a section called Hey, It’s Okay and will list a bunch of things to be okay about. You're welcome to join in and do something like this on your diary. Doesn't have to be on a Tuesday either.
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To not understand rich people food. Everything is so flipping tiny.
To never let my own kids pole dance like those mothers on The Talk who claim that it’s “like gymnastics.”
To wish I had the option of saying, “No thanks, try again,” when the weatherman spouts on about an impending storm.
To wonder if the chicks from Glee accidentally forgot their pants for that photo shoot they did for GQ. Then again, it seems a lot of people who go on that magazine are forgetting bottoms. Maybe I’ve watched too many episodes of The Tudors but half nakedness really doesn’t faze me.
To hope that Patrick Jane finds Red John, the serial killer who killed his family on the show The Mentalist.
To need to figure out how I go about getting people to read my novel. I hear other writers talk about “beta readers” or something like that. I write chick lit, so I imagine I’d have to find readers who like that genre.
To have had no idea what I was doing when I carved pumpkins.
To have wanted to say, “How did you find the strength to have sex?” when the parent of one of the kids in Natalie’s class admitted that her kids were 11 months apart and that she got pregnant when one was 2 ½ months old. When my kids were 2 ½ months old I felt like I was walking in a cloud and usually smelled like old milk.
To wonder why in preschool the teachers are call Mrs. *Enter first name* but in elementary school they’re suddenly called by their last name. It’s probably kinda confusing to kids.
To still not know exactly how Natalie got her big cut written about in the previous entry. I was busy making dinner so I didn’t see what happened. I think Tommy might have pushed her and she either A) landed on the corner of a toy just right or B) crashed into the couch, which has staples in the back because it sucks and we need a new one.
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