Kids, I’m going to tell you a story. The story of how I met your mother.
And by ‘how i met your mother,’ I of course mean ‘how i decided to start this blog.’ Potato, potato.
You see, I escaped the great cold north last week to go on vacation in Florida with my family. It was lovely and warm and I drank too many grapefruit mimosas and ate too much chocolate bread and now have too many new freckles, and when I left, JetBlue had me fly through Boston to go from West Palm Beach to DC.
Whatever, I figured I’d just use the extra flight time to play Plague on my new iPad, which is basically like Angry Birds except it looks completely different and you’re a killer disease bent on destroying humanity (tomato, tomato?)
And then I got on the flight to Boston and it was like the lady next to me had the disease I was simulating. Well, maybe not exactly because the disease on my screen had symptoms like “coma” and “paranoia” and “total organ failure,” but the point is she smelled terrible and it was a very very long few hours in my life. So I did what every rational, sensible Millennial would do, and I posted about it on Facebook. And then my buddy Steve asked when I was writing a book. I responded that when I did write my memoir, chapter 3 would be called “The time I nonsensically had to a layover in Boston while going from Florida to DC and got stuck next to the lady that smelled like the Grimm reaper had chlamydia.” Then I decided a blog was a more reasonable venture than a book. JOKES ON YOU, STEVE.
So, yeah. I guess this is going to be a thing. If I can remember it exists.
Also, I’m linking to my friend Lindsey’s blog because I totally stole her theme because I was in love with the font