“Not sure if I am still supposed to text what I’m doing but it seems sad not to be checking in so…Here goes…I am cutting out coupons to use at the grocery store.”
She’s right…the end of my initial proposal has arrived. I cajoled my mother into texting me her dirty business for 30 straight days, and today that day has come. But rest assured, reader, for we will press on.
Coupons. Oh, god. the coupons.
pizza, soup, oil changes, bathroom cleaners, toothpaste, asparagus, frozen fish, fresh fish, paper towels, sandwich sliced cheese, bagels, deli meat, hummus, charcoal briquettes, fucking floss, candy, candy corn, candy hearts, notebooks, tampons, Michaels framing services, sunscreen…
I don’t know where she keeps them. But she’s like a Pokemon kid with her coupons. She has quite the collection, half of which are expired already. But if I want a half-off pizza, best to check with her first.