Let me know that my bra is showing before I get to work.
Beat the crap out of Spencer Pratt and his flesh colored beard.
Extricate me from awkward conversations/pauses.
Allow me to forget that my ex husband offered me advice on forms of birth control and what’s working for him these days.
Make me some ham biscuits.
Update my resume and distribute it accordingly.
Bury Michael Jackson-please for the love of God.