You know that thing where you reach into your purse for lip-gloss and pull out a pair of little boy’s underwear? Okay, fine, maybe you don’t, but this is a thing that happens to the rest of us. Or some of the rest of us. Or like, me. And then I spend an afternoon at the crossroads of pervy and well-prepared, and then I tell my husband I might need to go back to therapy, and then I write a bunch of other parents to see if this kind of things happens to them. And then I make that information public. Today, for your viewing pleasure: Random Sh*t Parents Found in Their Purses/ Man Bags/ Pockets. Because sometimes, therapy is best done in a group.
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