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You’re So Pretty.

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Sorry I’ve been kinda absentee lately, Bitches.

I’ve been at the beach.

Literally.  We have spent the summer in and out of the city and hanging out as a family.  We are super lucky to have a family cottage where we can just escape from all the people and all the things and just decompress.

In theory anyway.  It’s not completely stress free spending 24 hours a day with your children with no work or grocery store or girls nights to escape to.

But that’s another post.

Do you know how many bathing suits I own?

7.

Of the seven, five are bikinis, and 2 are one pieces.

The one pieces I hardly ever wear and actually bought for doing the baby swimming lessons when I was still pretty post partum.  Like they hid something.  Like anybody cared.  I just felt like a one piece was a little more appropriate for that environment.

But once outside?  Fuck it.  I am not spending a day peeling a one piece bathing suit on and off to use the bathroom.  And anybody who’s had a baby knows how often that happens once you have kids, right?  Let’s just say that if I lived in the US, I could probably sue them for the damage they did to my bladder. And that’s not even including the whole “cross your legs when you sneeze” thing.

And of the 5 bikinis, 3 of them are cheap suits that look good, but are starting to get a little stretched out or see through, but are good enough for a private beach.  Because nobody gives a fuck out there.

I bought one ridiculously expensive suit two years ago that helped to “disguise” the wreck that was my lower abdomen after Buddy was born.  It’s one of those ones with a little skirt.  Beautiful, but sometimes the extra material on the skirt is fucking aggravating.

And the last one was a suit I bought years ago, before my breast reduction and way before we had kids.  I’ve kept the bottoms all these years because they were really good quality, fit well and were black, but the top was useless. So yesterday, I went on a quest to find a beautiful, high end top that I could pair with the bottoms.  Think of those cute mismatched suits.

I found one at the specialty store. The place with the fancy French lingerie and bathing suits where the saleslady can’t wait to get in that change room with you and wrestle your titties into a fancy bathing suit top or bra.  They also love to shatter your dreams when they look at you and just by eyeballing your tits through a sundress, guess your bra size and it was nothing like what you thought it was.

Did you know that titties can grow back after you have a breast reduction?  Because babies?

Because always babies.

They ruin everything.  Even your titties.  Sigh.

So anyway.

I bought this beautiful top to pair with the bottoms I had and came home to try the ensemble on together.

The pre baby bottoms with the post baby top.

And Bitches, a little self doubt crept in.

And then you know what happened?

My little Buddy came over to me and said “You’re so pretty Mama.”

“Your hair is pretty. And your eyes are pretty. And your arms are pretty.  And your tummy is pretty. And your lips are pretty. And your legs are pretty. “

So the three year old teaches the lesson we should all remember today.  If only we could see ourselves through the eyes of our children.  Their perception is so innocent, but it is also uncensored and truthful.

I can’t tell you how much it meant to me to hear his little voice say those words to me.  It was the purest, most untarnished compliment I have ever received. He doesn’t care if there is a lump or a bump somewhere, or if my tummy jiggles in places or if my thighs touch.

He just sees me through eyes of love…..and so should I .

And so should you.

 

 

 

Childbearing Has Really Fucked Up My Body

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Everybody knows that doing things like jumping on a trampoline after having children can be dangerous.  I am usually capable of controlling myself down there, but anything that exudes a little bit of force like jumping or sneezing may produce wet spots.  Or coughing.

Or laughing too hard.

Ok.  I pee my pants a little bit now and then.  But whatever.

I just read this amazing article over at The Secret Life of Emily Maine that talks about how common birth injuries are and that there are many ways to treat them if we look past the usual post partum checkups that really only focus on things like bleeding and infection.  Anyway….if you’ve had a child and even years later have pain or incontinence, go and read the article.  The link to it is inside her post that I’ve included above here.

But what about the shit that is not actually an injury, but just weird things that happen to your body after creating and carrying life?

Let’s just start with the extra skin leftover on your stomach.  It’s really fucking annoying.  I feel like everything went back to normal after the first baby, but after number two?  Perma-saggy-belly.  I keep watching episodes of “Skin Tight”  on TLC where people who have lost hundreds of pounds get plastic surgery to remove the excess skin and I am so jealous.

That’s why mom jeans were invented, Bitches.  Because there are just some things that your spawn do to you that can’t be fixed.  I don’t care about stretch marks or wider hips.  But the skin has got to go.  Maybe A GoFundMe page is in my future?

Second, I wanna know what the fuck kind of cruel joke God thinks he’s playing when it comes to facial hair.  If you only knew how much time I spend each week plucking.  And I’m not just taking about eyebrows.

After you turn thirty, and I mean literally the day after you wake up to nurse your hangover from the night before, these little chin hairs start appearing.

And then, after you have two babies, those couple of chin hairs bring some friends.

And then, just to add a little insult to injury, some of those fuckers turn white just to make you feel hairy AND old.  Seriously.  I don’t give a fuck about hormones and whatever.  Stop with the goddamn beard.  Please.

So, once you are done with peeing and wide hips,  the skin and the hair, the exhaustion and irritability, where does it leave you?

A shell of the woman you once were.

And for the first few years, you kinda don’t give a fuck anyway.  You are so tired that all you want to know is where is your coffee cup in the morning and wine bottle at night.

And then 5 years has past, and you start to feel like you’re a person again.  You start to wear something other than yoga pants and old maternity clothes.  You start to give a shit and make a bit of an effort and that’s when the changes hit you.

But you know what else?

I’ll keep plucking and fantasizing about a tummy tuck for the rest of eternity to know that I have created two healthy and happy little sprites.  It’s way more than so many get.

But if any of you want to fund some surgery or electrolysis that would be cool too.

Or we could lobby the government for change…have it included in post partum care.  Right?

 

The Twee Destroyer Of Hearts Is FIVE!

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Photo by the fabulous Alicia Thwaites.

Today my Twee Destroyer of Hearts turns 5.

FIVE!

She is not so twee anymore, but she still breaks your heart into a million pieces with her beautiful smile and crazy personality.

5 years since I became a mother.  5 years since Husband and I embarked on this path to insanity and sleepless nights. 5 years of exhaustion, frustration and bewilderment.  5 years of humility.

5 years of the purest love on the planet.  The love between a mother and her child.

And the thing is, as cliche as it sounds, I really do love her more today than on the day she was born.  I think that when you first give birth, the love is instinctual and raw and biological. Your job, your whole reason for existing (biologically speaking) is to protect and care for your child.  To make sure that your genetics make it and pass down.

But now 5 years have passed and the fog has lifted and I can really see her now.

I don’t have to rely on just my motherly instincts anymore (and let’s just say THANK GOD she survived because I pretty much had no idea what the fuck I was doing most of the time) because she’s turned into this wonderful little human being that I would be drawn to even if she wasn’t mine.

Now I get to love her not just because biology says I have to and babies are delicious; I get to love her because she’s turned into this spirited, empathetic,  intelligent, enthusiastic, gorgeous and creative little person.

I get to love her because honestly, all assholery aside, my daughter is pretty fucking rad.

5 years ago I had this insane, rocket fast delivery of a 7 pound, 14 oz little spitfire.

I am so grateful for her and all she’s done for my life.

Happy Birthday Baby.  My love for you is already so big I feel like there isn’t room in my heart for it. And it just keeps growing.  Have the best day ever.

 

I Hope There Is A Special Place In Hell For Killers Of Children

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Last night the body of a 5 year old girl was found in a field two days after her mother’s body was found in their home.

A man that has prior convictions of cocaine trafficking has been arrested and charged with first degree murder.

No other details have been released.  We know that the victims knew the man who has allegedly killed them. We know that when the little girl was taken from the home she was still alive.  We don’t know what the motive was.

And I’ll tell you this. There is no fucking motive.

Somebody took a 5 year old little girl, after murdering her mother and killed her. 

There is no motive for that.  I don’t care if you’re sick.  I don’t care of you’re crazy.  I don’t care if the mother was a fucking bitch, or the dad owed you money or you hated the whole family. ( None of these things have been implied)

I don’t care if someone is pointing a gun at both of you and you have to make a choice about whether the child gets shot or you do.

There is some understanding, I would hope, amongst adults that we preserve the lives of the precious and young at all costs.  That we protect our tiny humans from harm whether they are your flesh and blood or someone elses.

To think that anybody could intentionally bring harm to a child makes me want to vomit.  There is nothing she could have ever done to deserve this.

My heart is heavy today friends.  Hold on tight to your little ones.  Stay away from assholes.

And to the person who did this:

I hope your soul rots in the hottest hell.  She was a CHILD.

Stop hurting each other.  Please.

I Don’t Want Your Kid To Be An Asshole, I Just Want To Know That Mine Are Normal

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Honest to GAWD, you guys.  I cannot take any more of this whine until Mommy loses her shit crap.  Or my mind.  Or my fucking marbles.

Why is it that a (almost) 5 year old’s preferred methods of communication include whining and high pitched screaming.  Don’t forget the waterless tears, because those are my absolute favourite.

I’m not gonna lie.  Yesterday was rough.  There was nothing that got accomplished in this house until the volume of my requests were full out screaming at my children.

It was so rough, that when the bottle of tequila started making sexy eyes at me in the middle of the afternoon, I didn’t ignore his cat calls and tell him not in front of the children.  I made the eyes back.  I fantasized about wrapping my full lips around the neck of the bottle, and taking all of him back.  Every last drop.

Thanks God for fantasies.  They get you through the day.

Despite all the shitty behaviour, and a rainy day where no outside time was really  possible, I gave them one job:  Behave yourselves at the grocery store, and we will visit Dollarama for some crafts.

But oh no, that was just was too high of an expectation.  They couldn’t act like normal humans for 40 minutes.

I seriously just wanted to zipper their mouths shut and tie them to the rocket cart they were driving.  It was horrible.

I didn’t even wait until we got home to yell at them.  I let ‘er lose right there in the truck,in the parking lot.

I just want to feel for one day that I am raising children that will be respectful, obedient human beings.  That I am teaching them the behaviours they need to learn so that they will succeed at school or work.  That they will realize you have to earn things in this life, and they will remember that assholery only gets you so far, and then it all falls apart.

I just want ONE DAY where I feel like I am respected in my own home and that my efforts are recognized by them.  Sometimes they just act so un-appreciatively, and it makes me so sad that they don’t realize how hard I try to make their life awesome.

When someone is always crying or complaining, it sure makes you feel like you are doing a shit job.  And I wonder if every parent out there feels the same way.

So, do you?  Feel like you never get it right that is?

That’s where Tuesday left me, Bitches.  Tell me you’ve been there and that it changes.

Please?

 

 

 

 

NO. You Can’t Eat Off My Plate On The Second Date

Husband and I are about to celebrate our 10th anniversary this September.  We’ve actually been together for 16 years, and I can’t imagine being paired up with anybody else for that long.

Except maybe Channing Tatum.  Sorry, Husband.  But we’ve had this talk.

I just want to take today to thank Husband for not divorcing me and leaving me at the mercy of online dating.

Is this seriously the only way people connect these days?

One of my girlfriends was telling me about her most recent dating fails.  One guy she’s talking to over the course of a couple months or so….on paper seems like a good match.  Until she finds out that he is trying to hook up with her sister at the same time.

And Loser Number two:

As dinner went on he again talked sports. I found myself only asking him questions and nothing in return. He only talked about himself, not once did he ask me anything about my goals or family or try to get to know me better.

Finally our dinner comes, I’m starving.
I didn’t get a huge meal. I ordered Pandara bread, which you know is a small order. He took it upon himself to steal to pieces of my food.

Whoa.  Wait just one goddamn minute.  Isn’t there some sort of rule that eating off someone elses plate is something that happens either after the one year mark or post co-habitation?

And then:

Then proceeds to ask me when the bill is coming if we we’re gonna split it

And then doesn’t even offer to pay?  After he ate it all? It’s like he doesn’t ever want to get laid. Chivalry is NOT dead, gentelmen, despite what some of the hardcore feminists out there say.  I CAN pay for myself, but it doesn’t mean I want to.

Dude, if you are on your second date and you steal her dinner, that doesn’t make a girl extra hungry for sausage later, if you know what I mean.  It makes her want to punch you in the sausage.

Hands of my plate unless you are being cute and sexy and feeding me some of yours.  Some girls like to eat.

I just feel like some of these awkward interactions could be avoided if you were friends first or co workers.

Online dating just seems like a bad interview process, where everybody puts up super non realistic pictures of themselves, trying to lure one another in.  And then you meet in person and they look nothing like their photos, or you find out that when they say they like sports they meant that they were a synchronized swimmer in their late teens or some other shit.

Maybe I’m old fashioned, but I seriously don’t know how you people are going on dates with strangers who’s picture you liked on Tinder.

I mean, it’s kinda like adopting a dog.  You look at pictures on the shelter’s website, and think “OH!  That one’s SO CUTE.”

And then you go down to the Humane Society and the feral beast either tries to bite your hand off, or falls so deeply in love with you on first site that it starts dry humping your leg and drooling all over your new sandals.  And then you take it home out of pity, because who else would want it, and next thing you know you are stuck with some neurotic animal that won’t even let you go to the bathroom alone.

Husband and I met the old fashioned way.  At work.  We got along great, and he was the only boy I ever liked that made me feel all nervous.  I don’t get stupid over cute boys, but with him, I did.  I used to drop trays of dishes and drinks and was just a real mess.  So I told him we should go on a date and he said no.

What an asshole, right? 

But then one night after he had left work and I was working late, he went home, got all cleaned up, and showed back up with a case of beer and asked if I wanted to go to a party.

Umm, duh!

So went and hung out and the rest is history.

So yeah.  Tell me your online dating horror stories.

Better YET.  Write a post about your worst online dating experience.  Ping back here if you want.   I need some more laughs!

No, My One Piece Bathing Suit Doesn’t Hide My Non Thigh Gap Either

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I just read this article on Huffington Post called “This swimsuit ad proves you don’t need a thigh gap to wear a bikini”.

I mean, I get what the article and mostly its title are trying to convey.  They are trying to encourage us to embrace our bodies and know that we are beautiful whether a size 2 or 22.

But wait.

I didn’t know there was a rule about thigh gaps and bikinis.

Bitches, I have been doing it wrong for like 20 years.  How come nobody ever told me about this rule?  How am I not arrested by the Beach Patrol?

Thigh Gap? Are you kidding me?  The only time my thighs aren’t touching is when my legs are wrapped around something. Like when horseback riding, for example. Perverts.

Seriously though.  Is that what women have been told all their lives?   That if you don’t have a thigh gap you are too fat to wear a bikini?  Somebody needs to call the swimsuit stores, because I would estimate that only about 25% of women out there have a thigh gap.  And if you look in the stores, about 75% of the bathing suits on the shelves are indeed bikinis.

That ratio seems a bit wrong doesn’t it?

I mean, where are they hiding all these one piece bathing suits that come down far enough to cover up this hideous flesh touching that is going on between my legs?

Oh. RIGHT.  The non thigh gap bathing suits are hiding over there…..right next to the potato sack aisle.

Jesus Fucking Christ already.

This swimsuit ad proves nothing to me.  Except perhaps that we are still busy trying to label and manage everybody elses wardrobe according to ridiculous standards of beauty that don’t even fucking exist.  And don’t get me wrong, the women in the ad are stunning and I think the intended message is good.

But it doesn’t prove that you don’t need a thigh gap to wear a bikini.  It may prove that retailers are now starting to understand that all women have worth and deserve to feel beautiful. Or at least they are starting to realize that women are rejecting this stupid beauty ideal and wised up that there is money to be made off of women of every shape and size.  That its ok to still wear gorgeous clothes if you are bigger than a size 6. Maybe it’s a good place to start, but to me its also a reminder about we still see any deviation from impossible ideals for many many women as imperfections.

Ladies, your non thigh gaps are perfect. Your hips that bore children are perfect. That extra flesh around your belly is soft and perfect and part of you.  You don’t need a swimsuit ad to prove that to you.  Just put on a fucking bathing suit and go swimming.  If we all just start doing it it will become the normal thing and nobody will need to prove anything to you about your body anymore.

Bikinis are for everyone.  One pieces are for everyone. Last time I checked, a bikini exposes some flesh around the tummy, and leaves my thighs alone.  A bikini does nothing to affect my thigh gap.  Or lack their of.

So fuck off.

End Rant.

 

For The Original Bitches

I went to a fabulous pool party with the kids last night.  A group of friends, bound by the hell that is sometimes working in the service industry.  Friendships that have stretched 10 or 20 years.

We made it through our twenties, when friendships meant having an extra smoke to bum and holding one anothers hair while we puked after a long night of drinking.  When it meant covering one anothers shift because they had a doctor appointment or a family dinner.  Or stepping in and helping you serve the table from hell.

These friendships pushed through getting apartments, buying houses.  We talked each other through wedding jitters and divorces. Baby making and baby having.  Bitching and moaning and laughing and crying.

They evolved into a bunch of thirty and forty somethings, children, “real” jobs and busy lives.

And then, every time we all hang out, the banter that was still is, the affection that was still is and no time has passed at all.  We have all strangely betrothed our children to one another, but someone is going to have to draw up a chart because it’s starting to feel complicated.

We’re all just having a beer after work. Except we’re doing it at 5pm and bedtime is 9pm.  And nobody is puking unless someone’s kid choked on their hot dog.  And the only hook ups that are happening for us to talk about involve our favourite tv show characters.

There’s no judgement, no cattiness.  No drama and no crap.  Everybody says what they mean and means what they say and there is nothing that every comes our with sugar on it.  Real people.  Thank fucking Christ.

But you know what, Bitches?  I’m grateful to have my people.  The original Bitches, before you all became my Bitches.

So here is to my original Bitches…..thanks for putting up with me.  And thanks for running my food.

Fishing Was A Lot More Fun B.C.

Have you ever tried to go fishing with two pre-schoolers?  It is seriously annoying.  Adorable at first, then totally, completely, fucking annoying.

B.C.-(Before Children, not Christ)  I was an avid  fisher woman.  I had a little sportsman canoe that I pretty much spent my entire summer in every year since I was about 8. Alone or with my lake bestie for years and years.  I learned to love the peace and tranquility.  I loved sitting there and waiting for a bird or a beaver to go by.

Sometimes we liked to crank Snow  (the rapper, not the weather condition) from our ghetto blaster and think we were the coolest fucking thing since the beginning of ever.

Once I got older and Husband was in the picture, I taught him to fish too.  He didn’t like my canoe very much, so we started using a proper fishing boat instead. He said he knew I was the woman for him when he saw me in a baseball cap, fishing rod in one hand, beer in the other, cigarette hanging out of my mouth and driving a boat.  ( There’s a statute of limitations about drinking while driving a boat right?)

Anyway, it was our thing.  We fished ALL the time.  We endured stupid dogs who jumped out of the boat to chase lures, shitty weather and hours of getting skunked.  But we didn’t care.  It was magic.

So, after 5 years of making babies and various other obstacles to getting the boat on the water, it was time to get out there.

Enter:  The Children.

The Twee Destroyer was so excited to go fishing.  We had bought her her own fishing rod last year and it never got used.  I *may* have almost lost the motor off the back of the boat on its maiden voyage and kinda fucked it up.  There also was a super long wait list at the boat fixing place so it never got back out there.

So she got up at 5 am to tell us repeatedly how excited she was to go fishing.

Keep in mind the boat has been sitting up the back of the cabin for 6 years now and let’s just say it took Husband a few hours to clean it up enough and get it ready for launch.

So, have you ever fished with an almost 5 year old and a 3 year old?

Don’t bother.

Or bring ear plugs.

Buddy lasted about 45 seconds.  And then sang us his favourite song for the next hour.  It’s called “I Wanna Go Home”.  Sometimes, just to mix it up he threw in “I’m Thirsty”  and an “I Want Something”.

Little D lasted a bit longer.  She might have actually held the fishing rod for a total of 10 minutes or so.  Unfortunately for her, her line didn’t spend much time in the water.  She kept reeling it in and bitching that there was no fish on the end.

You know that fish live in the water, not in the air, right honey?

And then it happened.

I caught a nice big jack.

And OH BOY was she pissed.

“How only Mommy catches the fish?”

‘You sound like your father, B.C.’

“BUT I WANNA CATCH THE FISH!”

‘Then you’re gonna have to put your line in the water.’

And God help us all when  we released the fish back into the water.  She wanted to keep the head.  Like a trophy I suppose.  Is that weird?  Not really, right?  RIGHT?

After a 5 am wake up and a full day in the sun and on the water, there was no recovery from this bullshit.  The rest of the trip was nothing but a whine-a-thon.

So my advice is this:

Bring a lot of snacks.  And don’t plan on actually catching any fish if you bring your tiny  humans.

Also, wine.

Yup.  Fishing was a lot more relaxing BC.

Listen Ted. Stop Being An Asshole And Just Go To The Fucking Parade Already

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Canada has been kinda smug lately about how we treat our LGBTQ community so much better than the United States do.

But you know what?

We’ve still got our fair share of Bigoted, Bible Thumping, Hiding Behind Jesusers up here too.  And they love politics just as much as those possum-fucking losers in the American Bible Belt.

Why am I picking on the Christians?  Because we are a right bunch of assholes sometimes.

The latest controversy is over the refusal of a Member of Parliament, Ted Falk, to attend the Pride celebrations and parade in a town called Steinbach.  Steinbach is in the heart of a deeply Mennonite community where it is no secret how they feel about gay marriage.

Yes.  I know that the Bible says something about “man shall not lay with man”  or something along those lines.  But I’m pretty sure he also told us that there was a limit on how many slaves you could own and how you’re not allowed to touch a woman when she’s having her period.   By the way, it also has a list of 10 Ways Not To Be An Asshole.   Otherwise known as the 10 Commandments.  There’s a biggie in there about loving your neighbour as yourself.  Check it out sometime.

Here’s my biggest problem with all of this.  Canada is not actually a Christian country.  There are a great many of us who are indeed Christian.  Some of them support LGBTQ rights and some use their faith as an excuse to continue to spread hatred.  But as a Member of Parliament, you must leave your personal beliefs at the door, and support the laws of this country.  You are welcome to try and influence and change laws, but you must uphold the rights of all the citizens.

And unfortunately, Ted Falk, the law is not on your side here.  Bigotry is something that should not be tolerated in any capacity from a Member of Parliament, and I would suggest that your personal belief system is getting in your way of doing your job.

The other problem I have is that I think bigots like Ted Falk here make some sort of weird assumption that a Pride parade and celebration is some sort of recruitment drive.

Honey, have you looked at yourself in the mirror? The gays don’t want you.  There is a standard of fabulousness required that I just don’t think you could ever live up to.

Rather, the Pride celebrations are supposed to be a celebration of not having to hide yourself.  A celebration of being able to love freely who you love without having to fear arrest or abuse.  Clearly, we aren’t there yet, but we are a far cry from those days in New York City where the police raided the Stonewall Inn.  The Pride celebrations around the world are a reminder of this event, and how far we have come in accepting and loving everybody as they are, not how you interpret that they should be.

As a Christian, your job is to promote love and protect your brothers from harm. And yes, they are your brothers.  And sisters.  That’s your calling.

And as a Representative of your country, your job is to uphold and support the laws that are in place, and be present in a official capacity as needed in your community.  And newsflash:  Part of the population that your represent is LGBTQ.

Out of all the laws in the Bible, I don’t understand why we’re allowed to ignore all the other ones from the Old Testament and yet this one is like the Golden Fucking Rule.

I mean, we’re also not supposed to eat shellfish.  Do you take  stand on this, Ted, and refuse to enter any restaurant that has shrimp on the menu?  I mean, how are you supposed to support these blasphemous eaters of shellfish, when God has explicitly said not too?

How can you stand by and watch your children run and hug their mother or cousin who got her period this morning?  The filth!

And how can I, good Christian woman that I am, stand by idly while you clearly don’t love your neighbour as yourself?

I can’t.  Neither should anybody else.

Your values aren’t the only values that matter in this country.  And so, as a member of our Federal Government, you need to find a way to get past your bigoted, hypocritical “value” system and do your fucking job.

Stop making Jesus look bad by using Him as an excuse to act like a dick.  Just go to the fucking parade already.  Wear a rainbow, have a beer and no promises, but I’m pretty sure no one is going to gay rape you.

That was actually the Catholic Church…but that’s a whole other post.

 

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