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...and still it gets more painful. I came home last night to find my husband passed out on the couch, cigarette buts on the carpet, empty vodka bottle, kitchen trashed, plates and half eaten food everywhere, my son nowhere to be seen. I decided to take an Atavan (first time ever) and try to be low key. My emotions couldn't take much more and I was just trying to avoid any confrontation of any sort. I quietly sat in the bedroom, TV on the lowest volume and hid. About an hour later my husband…
Rain? No thanks, man. I'm a frog. I've no time for that. I've got hopping to do, flies to eat. It's mating season, Ms. Mother Nature. You're trying to dampen up my new kicks while I'm trying to stroll in all suave. Wet shoes = no kids for me. And I want lots of them. Like, millions. Because I'm a frog. And that's how many eggs I assume lady frogs can carry. Whatever. Rain never stopped me before. Not going to let it stop me now. Ribbit, mother trucker. (image via Imgur)