Oh, hey, guys.

Where shall we fucking begin?

Okay, let's just start from the top. Uh, Andrew and I almost got divorced again

for probably like the fourth time this week. My grandma Gloria almost died in a sequin bray at our 90th

birthday party and I'm probably going to get canceled for trying to do a selfless mitzvah. Hence why I

believe now, more than ever, that karma is a scare tactic.

A scare tactic for the fraudulently sanctimonious population of mediocre dumbfucks that roam the

globe and name their kids fucking brailing.

Hi, everybody.

So I guess we should just start with my impending divorce.

Well, in a nutshell, Andrew stained my sugary and coffee table with a turmeric shot, and I lost my fucking mind.

I had been quarantining pretty vigilantly for the past 10 days in anticipation and preparation for my grandma Gloria's 90th birthday Parisian

galavan. There was eight of us. We all locked down, got PCR swabbed. I love a divorce

joke. I think anyone that's not making a divorce joke is probably going to get divorced.

I've said that forever because it's just the truest thing of all

time. The couples that are like, we never say the D word. I have said it's, what time is it? Oh,

it's 8.41 a.m. and I have said the word divorce to my husband 17 times already. It's funny

because it's like we think we're going to make it. And if not, that's okay too.

Don't make me run the statistics by you yet again.

60%.

Odds are not in your favor, Katie.

I'm just going to say it.

...