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You ever notice how when it comes to Thanksgiving, we all face the same dilemma - the stuffed turkey. I mean, we love it, but let's be honest, we've all had that moment where we're looking at the turkey and thinking, "Is this a Thanksgiving dinner or an episode of 'Hoarding: Thanksgiving Edition'?" I tried to get creative last year and stuffed my turkey with everything I could find in the kitchen. It became a culinary adventure. I found a lost Tupperware lid, a missing sock, and I swear I even found my car keys in there! I didn't know whether to carve the turkey or file a missing items report.
It's like playing culinary hide-and-seek with your dinner. "Alright, who hid the gravy boat in the bird this year? Oh, it's behind the drumstick, of course!
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I recently moved into a new apartment, and I had to confront the harsh reality of adulting. You know you're officially an adult when you have to buy your own furniture. So, I went to the store, and I'm looking at this stuffed chair thinking, "This is it, this is where I'm going to sit and contemplate my life choices." But here's the thing - I bought a stuffed chair, not a therapist. I mean, sitting in it doesn't magically solve all my problems. If only life were that simple. I tried telling my landlord, "Hey, can I pay my rent in hugs? I've got a really comfy chair now!"
Adulting is basically realizing that a stuffed animal won't pay your bills. I mean, I love my teddy bear, but last time I checked, it didn't have a job or a 401(k). I can't bring my stuffed animals to a job interview and say, "These are my emotional support plushies.
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You ever go to the gym, and you see those people who seem to live there? They're always lifting weights, running on the treadmill, and you're just there thinking, "I can't even lift a stuffed crust pizza to my mouth without breaking a sweat." Gyms should have a different kind of membership for people like me – the "Stuffed and Puffed" membership. Instead of personal trainers, they have personal chefs who motivate you by dangling a chocolate bar in front of the treadmill. "Run faster, and you can have the Snickers!"
And don't get me started on those fitness classes. I tried a yoga class once, and the instructor said, "Now, let your stress melt away." I'm there thinking, "Lady, if stress could melt away, I'd be a puddle on the yoga mat right now.
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You ever walk into someone's house, and they have shelves filled with books? It's like a literary buffet. But let's be real, half those books are just for show. They're there to make you look sophisticated, like, "Oh, you read 'War and Peace'? Name three characters. Go!" I have a friend who collects so many books that I'm convinced she's building a fort for the impending literary apocalypse. She says, "I love the smell of books." I'm thinking, "You know they make candles for that, right?"
My bookshelf is stuffed too, but it's more of a fiction section – fiction that I'll read them all one day. It's like my personal library is a gym membership for my brain, and every unread book is a missed workout. "Sorry, Jane Austen, maybe next year.
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