Diaper Funny Quotes

He glances over his shoulder, no doubt hearing my insanely loud shoes stop in their tracks. Then he looks again. It’s a double take for the record books. “I’m out stalking,” I call. It doesn’t come out the way I’d intended. It’s not lighthearted or funny. It comes out like a warning. I’m one scary bitch right now. I hold my hands up to show I’m not armed. My heart is racing. “Me too,” he replies. Another cab cruises past like a shark. “Where are you actually going?” My voice rings down the empty street. “I just told you. I’m going out stalking.” “What, on foot?” I come closer by another six paces. “You were going to walk?” “I was going to run down the middle of the street like the Terminator.” The laugh blasts out of me like bah.I’m breaking one of my rules by grinning at him, but I can’t seem to stop. “You’re on foot, after all. Stilts.” He gestures at my sky-high shoes. “It gives me a few extra inches of height to look through your garbage.” “Find anything of interest?” He strolls closer and stops until we have maybe ten paces between us. I can almost pick up the scent of his skin. “Pretty much what I was expecting. Vegetable scraps, coffee grounds, adult diapers.

I wish I knew what you were talking about," she returned. "Where's the pin?" "Pin?" "Yes. Pin. To fasten the diaper. The kid can't hold the thing up with two hands.

Put something on,"she hissed."I'm not some high school cheerleader you can intimidate or make me squirm by showing your penis. I've seen it before.I was the one who changed your diapers." -fallen crest high

The older Irene got, the more she swore. I remember when her grandson pooped in his diaper at his christening, she said, 'Holy shit,' loud enough for everyone to hear. The look on that priest's face!

Observe," she said. "You put the diaper under here, and around there, and you—if you had one—pin the whole thing ogether. Now you try it." "Not me," he objected. "How about a paper clip? Or a paper staple?" "I don't see what's bothering you," Meg said. "She's only a little girl." "I did notice." "And, if you follow scripture, was created after Adam." "And—what's your point?" "Being the second model, women turned out considerably better than men. God, when She did this second work, you'll note, got all the plumbing inside.

We were always looking for the perfect man. Even those of us who were not signed up for the traditional, heteronormative experience were nevertheless fascinated with the anthropological, unicorn-like search for one. Married or single, we were either searching for him or trying to mold him from one we already had. This perfect specimen would consist of the following essential attributes: He shared his food and always ordered dessert. When we recommended a book, he bought it without needing a friend to second our suggestion first. He knew how to pack a diaper bag without being told. He was a Southern gentleman with a mother from the East Coast who fostered his quietly progressive sensibilities. He said “I love you” after 2.5 months. He didn’t get drunk. He knew how to do taxes. He never questioned our feminist ideals when we refused to squish bugs or change oil. He didn’t sit down to put on his shoes. He had enough money for retirement. He wished vehemently for male-hormonal birth control. He had a slight unease with the concept of women’s shaved vaginas, but not enough to take a stance one way or another. He thought Mindy Kaling was funny. He liked throw pillows. He didn’t care if we made more money than him. He liked women his own age. We were reasonable and irrational, cynical and naïve, but always, always on the hunt. Of course, this story isn’t about perfect men, but Ardie Valdez unfortunately didn’t know that yet when, the day after Desmond’s untimely death, Ardie’s phone lit up: a notification from her dating app.

Just as Drake turned six weeks old, I decided I wanted to lose some baby weight. Chip and I were both still getting used to the idea that we had a baby of our own now, but I felt it was okay to leave him with Chip for a half hour or so in the mornings so I could take a short run up and down Third Street. I left Drake in the little swing he loved, kissed Chip good-bye, and off I went. Chip was so sweet and supportive. When I got back he was standing in the doorway saying, “Way to go, baby!” He handed me a banana and asked if I’d had any cramps or anything. I hadn’t. I actually felt great. I walked in and discovered Chip had prepared an elaborate breakfast for me, as if I’d run a marathon or something. I hadn’t done more than a half-mile walk-run, but he wanted to celebrate the idea that I was trying to get myself back together physically. He’d actually driven to the store and back and bought fresh fruit and real maple syrup and orange juice for me. I sat down to eat, and I looked over at Drake. He was sound asleep in his swing, still wearing nothing but his diaper. “Chip, did you take Drake to the grocery store without any clothes on?” Chip gave me a real funny look. He said, “What?” I gave him a funny look back. “Oh my gosh,” he said. “I totally forgot Drake was here. He was so quiet.” “Chip!” I yelled, totally freaked out. I was a first-time mom. Can you imagine? Anyone who’s met Chip knows he can get a little sidetracked, but this was our child! He was in that dang swing that just made him perfectly silent. I felt terrible. It had only been for a few minutes. The store was just down the street. But I literally got on my knees to beg for Jo’s forgiveness.

I never knew Kierkegaard was funny, but I think this is funny: “The greatest hazard of all, losing one’s self, can occur very quietly in the world, as if it were nothing at all. No other loss can occur so quietly; any other loss—an arm, a leg, five dollars, a wife, etc.—is sure to be noticed.” I did not notice. I would catch my reflection in the mirror in the bathroom, where I went again and again to wash my hands after changing diapers. So used to gazing down at babies, I was shocked, every time, to discover there was another face up there. Our eyes would meet, and then I would finish drying my red, cracked hands and leave her behind, as if she were nothing at all. I guess it’s not that funny.

The funny thing is that we know well that we learn through repetition. We need to practice songs before we can sing them. We need to try something over and over before we have mastered it. We have accepted that part of being human. What we appear not to have accepted is the subject matter. I don’t want to cook for the family again. I don’t want to do the laundry again. I don’t want to vacuum, to make a birthday cake, to blow a nose, to change a diaper, to pick up toys. I don’t want to practice this work that God gave me because, frankly, I’d rather not be good at it. Because, somewhere in there, we don’t like what God has called us to do.

I never knew Kierkegaard was funny, but I think this is funny: "the greatest hazard of all, losing one's self, can occur very quietly in the world, as if it were nothing at all. No other loss can occur so quietly; any other loss- an arm, a leg, five dollars, a wife ect. - is sure to be noticed." I did not notice. I would catch my reflection in the mirror in the bathroom, where I went again and again to wash my hands after changing diapers. So used to gazing down at babies, I was shocked every time, to discover there was another face up there. Our eyes would meet, and then I would finish drying my red, cracked hands and leave her behind, as if she were nothing at all. I guess it's not that funny.

My wife is so negative. I remembered the car seat, the stroller, AND the diaper bag. Yet all she can talk about is how I forgot the baby.

What's so funny?" "HAHAHA, nothing ... it's just, your mask is a diaper!" "Well," Yuan began. "Reality is scarier than fiction. Who has the time to create a well-rounded disposable mask just to see you once? I didn't take a designer class after all. Did you know I'm working around a budget?

Did anyone stay in their twenties after high school or did everyone just pass GO to collect a 401k and diapers?

Alex whispers, “There’s a thin line between love and hate. Maybe you’re confusing your emotions.” I scoot away from him. “I wouldn’t bet on it.” “I would.” Alex’s gaze turns toward the door to the classroom. Through the window, his friend is waving to him. They’re probably going to ditch class. Alex grabs his books and stands. Mrs. Peterson turns around. “Alex, sit down.” “I got to piss.” The teacher’s eyebrows furrow and her hand goes to her hip. “Watch your language. And the last time I checked, you don’t need your books in order to go to the restroom. Put them back on the lab table.” Alex’s lips are tight, but he places the books back on the table. “I told you no gang-related items in my class,” Mrs. Peterson says, staring at the bandanna he’s holding in front of him. She holds out her hand. “Hand it over.” He glances at the door, then faces Mrs. Peterson. “What if I refuse?” “Alex, don’t test me. Zero tolerance. You want a suspension?” She wiggles her fingers, signaling to hand the bandana over immediately or else. Scowling, he slowly places the bandana in her hand. Mrs. Peterson sucks in her breath when she snatches the bandanna from his fingers. I screech, “Ohmygod!” at the sight of the big stain on his crotch. The students, one by one, start laughing. Colin laughs the loudest. “Don’t sweat it, Fuentes. My great-grandma has the same problem. Nothing a diaper won’t fix.” Now that hits home because at the mention of adult diapers, I immediately think of my sister. Making fun of adults who can’t help themselves isn’t funny because Shelley is one of those people. Alex sports a big, cocky grin and says to Colin, “Your girlfriend couldn’t keep her hands out of my pants. She was showin’ me a whole new definition of hand warmers, compa.” This time he’s gone too far. I stand up, my stool scraping the floor. “You wish,” I say. Alex is about to say something to me when Mrs. Peterson yells, “Alex!” She clears her throat. “Go to the nurse and…fix yourself. Take your books, because afterward you’ll be seeing Dr. Aguirre. I’ll meet you in his office with your friends Colin and Brittany.” Alex swipes his books off the table and exits the classroom while I ease back onto my stool. While Mrs. Peterson is trying to calm the rest of the class, I think about my short-lived success in avoiding Carmen Sanchez. If she thinks I’m a threat to her relationship with Alex, the rumors that are sure to spread today could prove deadly.

Another day at the funny farm. Jeremy and Megan were eleven months apart and in constant conflict these days. Pam hadn't decided which stage of motherhood had been the most challenging, having two toddlers in diapers at the same time, or having two fresh-mouthed teenagers at the same time.