I tossed some cookie cutters with swear words on them into the thrift store pile.
Austin: You didn't even open them.
Me: I make cookies for my family and children. I'm not baking cookies that say, "Fuck Off."
Austin: I dread what we'll get from her for Christmas this year.
Me, groaning: She means well.
Austin: She means something. Like a question mark means something.
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