{a teensy PSA}

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Sweet readers.  
Precious skimmers of my succinct written form.

If you would've told me in my early twenties just how many times the above words would waterfall on a daily basis out of my mouth, I would have laughed hysterically at you while wearing my black Ponte pants and color stay lipstick {Revlon: So Sienna}.  Ponte pants. Remember?  The nylon-cotton blend complete with elastic waist and subtle but ever-so-sleek bell bottomesque shape. Purchased at Lerner New York or, if Dad was paying, The Limited. You know the only pant that has since lived in your closet that could be worn going out dancing on a Saturday night witch yer gurls, be worn to exercise on Sunday afternoon and hit the floor running for Monday morning work attire. You be knowin' them.  Yeah.  Air high five to all you late 90's ladies.  Chest bump.  We out.

And for the love of digestion and overall food consumption, geez.  We need revival, people. I am doing my part with the 2 heathens I have brought into this world.  On.the.regular.tip. "Chew with your mouth closed."  It's an imperative sentence that would be in my "recently used" if it was an emoji on my iphone.  Because clearly emoji talk is everyone's true thesis for communication.

No one wants to see the food you have selected to place on your plate only to be shuttled into your muzzle in your choice combo.  Nope.  No one wants a free ticket to the freak show of the 5 senses.  Slarbling.  Crunch-pasting.  Licking and grinding and smacking.  And color? Doritos mixed with milk, slathered with a side of yogurt-ah-la grilled cheese is not my kinda Bob Ross palette, mmkay? It is my privilege to raise you to be men of character and of strength. Manners are very much included in this motherly vow. Those 2 lines on the stick were my proverbial swearing in. You came into my life only to leave my belly button completely disheveled and my skin stretched like the 800 million pounds of Laffy Taffy and swiss string cheese I ingested with each of your 9 month contractual living agreements inside my person.  I aim to make you right as rain, dangit.

Where was I?  Oh yes. Revival.  Is it just me or is it about every 3rd person you meet that needs the above imperative sentence breathed into their being? I envision something along the lines of the way Voldemort {he who must not be named, but we can now because the movie is ole school} tries to enter into Professor Quirrell.  What is up with people?  Why are we chewing with our mouth OPEN?  And it's not just the littles.  Oh no.  Granny's doin' it.  The suits with shiny laced shoes are too.  It hurts my core to hate on the Moms our there, but sisters, I be seein you.  Your trap is WIDE & FLY WITH FOOD.   I know you're tired, sweetie.  I know.  I'm with you.  But we gotta close our lipsys when we begin the digestion process; we're not cows.  I mean I know the whole utter thing is a realistic comparison, but let's keep it at that, okay?

I feel set free.  It's as if this teensy PSA from my cyberplace has been quite therapeutic.  Yes. Yes.  The muscles at the base of my neck have oxygen flowing.  I can feel it.  And that's a good thing.  Because guess what?  It's lunch time.

.mac :)

This is installment #3 in my "Rock It" Series.  Go here to catch up on #1 & #2.