“Don't You Hate it When..."
There's always a car riding your tail when you're slowing down to find an address.
You open a can of soup, and the lid falls in.
It's bad enough that you step in dog poop, but you don't realize it till you walk across your living room rug.
There's a dog in the neighborhood that barks at EVERYTHING.
You can never put anything back in a box the way it came.
You slice your tongue licking an envelope.
Your tire gauge lets out half the air while you're trying to get a reading.
A station comes in brilliantly when you're standing near the radio but buzzes, drifts and spits every time you move away.
There are always one or two ice cubes that won't pop out of the tray.
The car behind you blasts its horn because you let a pedestrian finish crossing.
You set the alarm on your digital clock for 7pm instead of 7am.
The radio station doesn't tell you who sang that song.
You rub on hand cream and can't turn the bathroom doorknob to get out.
Your glasses slide off your ears when you perspire.
You can't look up the correct spelling of a word in the dictionary because you don't know how to spell it.
You have to inform five different sales people in the same store that you're just browsing.
You had that pen in your hand only a second ago, and now you can't find it.
You reach under the table to pick something off the floor and smash your head on the way up.
