I have more important things to worry about than this whole Ben Affleck is Batman ohmyheavenlydays how can such a travesty occur the superhero world is coming to an end. I mean, settle down, friends. Just remember that if Twitter was around in 1988, people would have been all, WTFBBQ MICHAEL KEATON? Really? Mr. Mom can’t pull off Batman! We are talking about Beetlejuice here. And you know what Michael Keaton went and did? He was Batman. So, let’s give Ben Affleck a little break and focus our attention to the rumors that the lovely, lovely, lovely Charlie Hunnam (the one who sits prominently at #2 on my list) is in talks to play Christian Grey in the 50 Shades of Grey movie which would just be a real-life problem for me because I was really hoping to never have to engage with anything 50 shades ever again—I have already lost too many hours of my life on that.
I am celebrating wee bit of a milestone around here.
Look, my children are 8, 10, and 12—I don’t wipe butts anymore, they cut their own meat, dress themselves, and they can even reach the glasses so I no longer have to be the constant getter-of-drinks. Milestones are few and far between around here, so we celebrate when we can, and there’s no shame in admitting that sometimes it’s a bit of a stretch. Your kid can crawl? Your kid pulled up on his own? Your daughter just took her first steps? Said her first words? Well, that’s cool and all, but
I finished all 395 levels of The Candy Crush Saga.
(And yes, I am aware that the stupid wrench means that the folks over at Candy Crush—who are pulling in $633,000 a day on a free app—are wise enough to know that new levels are a necessity for their cash flow. DAMMIT.)
It’s a milestone laced with more-than-mild shame and mortification, but it’s a milestone nonetheless. I have a new lease on life! I can figure out how would play me in the movie about me and my hummus addiction—Anna Kendrick? Kate Mara? I can finish the three books I am currently reading and really enjoying—Ghost Moth, The Astronaut Wives Club, and Flight Behaviour. I can sleep again. I can stress about foodborne illness more than I already do because 100 people got food poisoning at the CNE when they ate cronut cheeseburgers (which, HURL). I can find a new personal trainer since Trainer Kim decided that she’d rather become a teacher who works with children with special needs instead of making me cry every Friday morning (The nerve, I know.) I can track down the ridiculously specific Jansport backpack (it ships exactly not to Canada) that my tween daughter absolutely needs to have for school this year. She balances out the other two, who when I said, “Your bags are still in great shape from last year,” merely shrugged and asked if I was burning the toaster pastry.
Maybe I can come up with a free app that brings in hundreds of thousands of dollars a day…
So yes. I am done with Candy Crush. Finished. The End. Kaput.
What’s my secret, you ask? Well, if I do say so myself, I am really great at matching coloured candies and finding striped and wrapped candy combos and clearing all the jelly and keeping the growing chocolate at bay. I am also really good at the Candy Crush time travel cheat.
Some people are really good musicians, or artists, or surgeons, or html coders. I’m really good at matching candies. My husband married me for my talents, obviously.