An unfiltered fire hose of flaming condemnation

Dinner with the Southern in-laws

Jon: “What are we having to eat at your mother’s house?”

Me: “Ribs, I think. No, wait. Country ribs.”

Jon: “There’s a difference?”

Me: “Is there a difference? Did you really just ask me that question? Oh that’s right, you refer to biscuits as muffins, so we already know that your brain is a little wobbly.”

Jon: “No, I’m serious. What makes them country?”

Me: “They like to drive around with their infant sons on their laps.”

Jon: “Is there something in the recipe?”

Me: “And walk into gas station bathrooms with bare feet.”

Jon: “A particular ingredient in the sauce?”

Me: “I once knew this country rib, he couldn’t find a worm to fish with, so he threw a pipe bomb into the pond. That was an interesting funeral.”

Jon: “So, they’re country ribs because they were marinated in the bathtub.”

Me: “That’s what I’m thinking.”

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Heather B. Armstrong

Hi. I’m Heather B. Armstrong, and this used to be called mommy blogging. But then they started calling it Influencer Marketing: hashtag ad, hashtag sponsored, hashtag you know you want me to slap your product on my kid and exploit her for millions and millions of dollars. That’s how this shit works. Now? Well… sit back, buckle up, and enjoy the ride.

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