Thursday, September 15, 2011


My momma tried me today. If it were anybody else, I would have kicked them in the shin. Picture this: my backyard. spray painting some stuff for Judah's room.

Ma: What's that on your legs?
Me: *jumps around, swatting legs*
Ma: Stop girl, up at the bottom of your shorts. Are those bruises!?
Me: *looks down* Those are my stretch marks you jerk!
Ma: No, those aren't stretch marks, they're bruises *comes over to inspect* oh

I would fight her if she wasn't my momma. I really don't understand how she knows nothing about me. I distinctly remember having a conversation with her about how I get really dark stretch marks and they eventually fade after a few months of oil rubs. Also, I need longer shorts. My cheeks were hanging out the back and I'm sure the  old man next door was either super disgusted or very pleased. 


sayitlikethis said...

Here's my stretch mark story. Mind you, I've had stretch marks since the 9th grade or so. Growth spurt.

Freshman year of college, the girl across the hall saw me stretch and lift my arms some and it raised my shirt. She looked down at my side and gasped, "Oh my god, who stabbed you?"

Needless to say, I wanted to stab her.

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