Bubba Suburban and I Are No Longer Speaking


Normally this is where a good writer would have a catchy introduction which would snag your attention.  I don’t think that I can offer you anything that’s catchy tonight, so I’ll just say that I believe pretzel M&Ms are our future.  The factory might just as well stamp the words CRACK BEANS on the big, blue package, because that’s how I feel about them.  I’m not sure I’ve ever been introduced to such a perfect combination of salty-pretzel-meets-sugary-M&M perfection before, but hello!

My name is Mama, and it’s SOOO nice to meet you!

In another week I’ll be standing up before a support group and saying, “Hi.  My name is Mama, and I am addicted to crack beans pretzel M&Ms.”

And also?

My Suburban and I are breaking up.  I’m giving back the varsity Letterman’s jacket and the mixed tape, because Bubba Suburban left me afoot today, because of HEY! I THINK THIS PARKING LOT IS A GREAT PLACE TO PUKE UP MY STARTER!

Thankfully, I found a little bit of spiritual victory today, because I completely resisted the urge to curse it sideways into a dark place, while I kicked it and burst into tears.  No, ma’am.  In my newly found ability to handle stressful situations with dignity, style and maturity, I simply said, “Listen, Bubba Suburban; it’s you.  It’s not me.  This relationship isn’t really working out, because you’re not loving me like you should.  AND… because you won’t start, it’s now 409 degrees inside your front seat, and my pretzel M&Ms are MELTING BECAUSE WHERE IS THE AIR CONDITIONING??!”

And then I fired off a text to Hubs which read, “I am abandoning the Suburban.  I hate it.  I am now on foot.”

And then I called a friend and begged a ride.

So don’t be surprised if I tell you next week that I’m dating a Tahoe or a Yukon or a pretty little Slug Bug.


Don’t be surprised if y’all can’t find any pretzel M&Ms sitting on the shelves at your local grocery store.

Handling stress in a mature fashion involves stuffing the pain with just the right combination of salt and chocolate.  I’m beginning to think that this is the perfect food for all the hormones, as well as for bad hair days.  Hubs should be glad I found this new big, blue bag of buddies.

Have a great weekend.



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