Brian puts the cap on the toothpaste so tight that I need a towel to open it without slicing my hand open because I have delicate weiner hands and he is basically Popeye.
My cat tries to take my cheese knife from me.
My feet fall asleep while I’m pooping because I’m too short for my toilet.
I make notes in my phone about things I want to write about and then don’t understand them later (E.g. “Cannonball land” and “Gumdrop Hotel.”).
The direct correlation between how cold it is outside and how chatty Brian gets while smoking a cigarette.
I have to explain things like how to comment on my blog to my mother over the phone without seeing what she’s looking at. (“I see brain cells, and galaxies, chihuahua or muffin? I wrote a comment and I don’t know where it went. How come I can’t move this? Wait a minute, I’m the worst.”)
I go to sleep and wake up with yellow stuff on my pj’s. (It’s not pee or anything. I’m honestly baffled.)
I drop what I’m about to eat and have to eat something else instead.
My apartment looks like we just had a party because there are cups on every available flat surface, but really I’m just thirsty and forgetful.
I fix my nose ring at my desk and a booger comes out and we don’t have tissues in the office anymore so I stick it on a business card and throw it in the garbage.