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I recently bought a pair of pants online. You know how it goes – you see that model rocking those jeans, looking like they were custom-made for their legs. You think, "Hey, I could pull off that look." So, I hit the order button and wait with bated breath. The pants arrived, and I assumed they would fit like a glove. Well, more like a glove that went through the laundry and shrank three sizes. I put them on, and it was like trying to fit an elephant into a Smart car. I'm there doing squats, lunges, and interpretive dance moves just to get these things past my thighs.
Why do clothing sizes have to be so deceiving? They need a universal standard. I want to walk into a store and say, "Give me a pair of jeans, size reality check." And they hand me pants that fit, not pants that assume I've been on a lettuce-only diet for the past month.
So, note to self: next time you assume your pants size, just assume you'll need a backup plan and a crowbar to get them on. Fashion is a battlefield, my friends.
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Ever been in a situation where someone completely misread the room? Like, they assumed it was a costume party, but it was actually a funeral. Awkward, right? I was at a friend's place, and they invited this guy who assumed he was the karaoke king. He grabbed the mic and belted out "I Will Survive" at a volume that could wake the dead. Meanwhile, we were all mourning the loss of our eardrums.
Assuming people read the room is like assuming your GPS is always right. One wrong turn, and you're in the middle of nowhere, trying to explain to a farmer why you thought his cornfield was the fastest route to Starbucks.
So, let's all make a pact, folks. Before assuming anything, take a moment, read the room, and if you're not sure, assume people are silently judging you. It's better to be safe than sorry, or in the case of our karaoke king, better to be quiet than tone-deaf.
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I tried cooking a fancy meal the other day. Found this recipe online that said, "Easy 30-minute dinner." I assumed it would be a breeze. Well, the only breeze I felt was the one from the delivery guy as I ordered takeout. I started chopping vegetables like I was auditioning for a horror movie. The recipe said, "Sauté onions until golden brown." My onions looked more like they were auditioning for a role as a charcoal briquette. At that point, I realized cooking is an art form, and I'm just the clumsy toddler with a paintbrush.
And don't even get me started on the cleanup. The recipe didn't mention the tornado of pots, pans, and spilled spices that would invade my kitchen. I assumed it would be a simple task, but my kitchen ended up looking like a crime scene from a food fight gone wrong.
So, here's my advice: if you assume cooking is easy, just assume the number for your favorite takeout place is on speed dial. Because in the battle of pots and pans versus microwave and delivery, the latter always wins. Bon appétit, my friends!
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You know, they say when you assume, you make an "ass" out of "u" and "me." Well, I've been making a whole circus out of assumptions lately. I assumed my phone was charging all night, and now I'm out here with 5% battery, trying to navigate life like a cartographer from the 1800s. Assumptions are like that one friend who's always like, "Trust me, I got this." And then you end up in a situation where you're asking yourself, "Did I just assume someone with a history of bad decisions would make a good decision this time?" Spoiler alert: No, they didn't.
And don't get me started on assumptions about weather forecasts. I checked the weather app this morning, and it said there's a 10% chance of rain. So, naturally, I left my umbrella at home. Guess what? I'm now that unlucky 10%. I should have assumed I live in a parallel universe where rain follows me like a personal vendetta.
In conclusion, folks, assume is the mother of all mishaps. Assume nothing, regret everything. If you're thinking of assuming, just assume you shouldn't. Thank you, and assume you had a good laugh.
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