I'm like it's - it's like taking out whatever you have in your fridge and putting it in a bowl and eating it.
I always have SK-II face masks in the fridge - they are excellent especially if you've been on a plane and your skin is puffy. I also love Rodin face oil with jasmine - it's delicious and gives you a real glow. I always use Chanel eye cream. I go to have my eyebrows waxed and lashes tinted, and then I always curl my eyelashes.
I always have really fresh, hormone-free, additive-free chicken, healthy veggies, and brown rice in the fridge to grab because I'm always on the go.
I really get pursued by men in their 20s, like, a lot. They probably know there's food in the fridge and that somebody's going to talk to them and ask them how their day was.
During an early performance of 'Spamalot,' I left my regal gloves in the fridge to cool down and didn't remember them until I was on stage. They needed to be thawed overnight.
A small girl became increasingly paralysed by her parents' frequently violent rows. Sometimes she would spend hours standing completely still in the toilet, simply because that was where she happened to be when the fight began. Finally, in moments of calm, she would take bottles of milk from the fridge or doorstep and leave them in places where she may later become trapped. Her parents were unable to understand why they found bottles of sour milk in every room in the house.
I loathe people who say, 'I always read the ending of the book first.' That really irritates me, It's like someone coming to dinner, just opening the fridge and eating pudding, while you're standing there still working on the starter. It's not on.
Guys, gals, now hear this: No one wants to take away your hunting rifles. No one wants to take away your shotguns. No one wants to take away your revolvers, and no one wants to take away your automatic pistols, as long as said pistols hold no more than ten rounds. If you can't kill a home invader (or your wife, up in the middle of the night to get a snack from the fridge) with ten shots, you need to go back to the local shooting range.
Whitney smacked Coop's snout while simultaneously pressing herself deeper into the couch. Coop fixed her with an unblinking ice-blue stare, gray-brown fur bristling along his spine. "Tory!" Whitney squealed. "He's going to attack!" "Maybe." I walked into the kitchen and snagged a Diet Coke from the fridge. "Try to protect your throat.
Ford put a hand to his head. “Back up. Back up!” he cried. “You’re too close.” Heart pounding, I looked at the eight feet between us and pressed into the fridge. “I think he meant for the ghost to back up,” Jenks said dryly.
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