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You ever catch yourself talking to plants? Not because you believe in their magical properties, but because you're convinced they'll grow faster if they think you're an attentive plant parent. "Come on, little buddy, reach for the sky!
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My phone's autocorrect is like that friend who thinks they know what you're about to say. No, autocorrect, I didn't mean "ducking." I was going for something a bit more colorful.
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Dating in your 30s is like trying to find a parking spot. They say all the good ones are taken, and the available ones are either too small, too far away, or have questionable stains.
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I love how my definition of a successful day has shifted from achieving something amazing to successfully avoiding awkward small talk with the neighbor in the hallway.
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You ever notice how our tolerance for staying up late has evolved over the years? In college, it was partying until sunrise. Now, staying up past midnight is a rebellious act against the tyranny of responsible adulting.
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I've reached that age where my back goes out more than I do. It's like my spine is on a mission to explore the mysteries of the living room floor.
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The most suspenseful part of my day is waiting to see if the grocery store cashier will ask me if I want a receipt. It's like a high-stakes game of retail roulette. Will they? Won't they? The tension is unbearable.
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You know you're an adult when you get excited about a canceled plan. It's like, "Oh no, I can't make it to that thing I didn't want to do anyway? What a shame!
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I have a love-hate relationship with my fridge. It's like a time capsule of my intentions. There's a bag of kale in there from 2018, still waiting for its moment to shine.
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