My dog can tell the difference in sounds between my garage door and my wife’s garage door.
. . . and the moon pies will make your butt look big.
At least he’s eating jelly and not all the hive’s honey.
Twenty three dollars for a plumber. HA! Someday they will be so expensive they won’t even come out and give you an estimate for twenty three bucks.
I’ll have a pint of that Loose Parts Amber Ale, please.
I still have my multiplication table.
Why is Emmy Lou copping a feel?
He won’t tell the cleaners any of that. And she won’t ask him to take her stuff to the cleaners again. At least, that’s what I would do.
Don’t be silly. Social Security won’t exist when you’re grown.
See? Even little Ruthie knows their/there/they’re.