The Booty Bank

Ok, I guess it is technically called the "Fanny Bank", but that is not the point. The point is, somewhere along the lines, I forgot tonight, that I am a female. A female who wears high heels and hairspray, I love dangly earrings, and use a napkin at the dinner table, and all kinds of other girly type things. Tonight though, in a rousing game of "Dirty Santa" I lost myself. I was overtaken by my momofthreeboyedness. Someone brought this gift into the mix. The rule is once a gift is stolen 3x it cannot be stolen again. I realized with glee... I had the position and paper-number-drawn-from-a-triscut-box-power, to make that third steal.

Did I take the adorable reindeer laden candy jar filled with candy canes? No.
The beautiful vase? Uh-uh.
The chocolate? Bleh.Why bother.

I happily leapt and stole this Butt Bank. You deposit your coins and the bank passes gas. Loudly. I sat down and declared joyfully, "My boys will LOVE this!"

Then it hit me. I have lost the battle to momofthreeboyedness. Fear not, it is not a fatal condition. It just means that I will be spending alot of money in Spencers apparently...

What's next whoopie cushions as stocking stuffers? Fake poop? Ex-lax laden brownies? Oh, wait I have done that, in high school. Before I was a mom of boys. Crap. (yes, pun intended) I have said it before and I will say it again ...

Ya' reap what ya' sow folks...