I wrote a really nice, but basic obit for my grandmother (who was terrible btw). My dad told me he had already drafted one. The obit he drafted is one fucking sentence I’m CACKLING. “Sandy, 81, died March 11 at (the nursing home).”
Getting in the shower with my shower cap on to drown out the chirping from my smoke detector until my husband gets back with a new one. Why is the smoke detector my biggest anxiety (RAGE) trigger?