Introduction

A few months ago, I downed a handful of pills and a bottle of tequila. I had just found out that my husband of five years was still Snapchatting with the Pennsylvania stripper he got pregnant back in 2014. Yeah. That's a sentence that I never thought I'd say.

So I staggered to my closet, climbed up to the top shelf where I had shoved my gorgeous, Ivory colored, size 18 (no shame), a-lined wedding gown, complete with the box in the back. I got butt naked and slid it on. Then I dragged my drunk ass to my kitchen, turned on the burners and set that bitch on fire.

I probably should have taken it off first. Those leg hairs will never grow back. Cheaper than waxing though. 

I continued to bawl my eyes out and borderline throw up for the next 6 hours or so.

How did I get there? I cook. I clean. I make gorgeous kids. I go to church and pray for my enemies. Sure, I sometimes pray that they'll get hit by a bus, but I pray. 

I have no clever ending to this, so I'm just gonna moonwalk out of this post.