My bad!

"My bad." My French teacher, Madame Stull, in high school hated when I said that phrase. Every time i mispronounced a word and had no clue what she was talking about, I would habitually say, "my bad!" Madame Stull would say something in French to me that I couldn't understand, and she would then say, "You make no sense when you say 'my bad'!" Well I didn't learn to quit saying "my bad," and I most definitely didn't learn any French...except for the one phrase, "Je ne suis pas fromage."

so to my readers, My bad! My apologies on my last blog. I really did not mean to sound so pessimistic and bothered by growing up! I had just happened to be talking about the whole idea of growing up with David that day and decided to write it down. I am pumped for the next stage in my life, and I cannot wait to see how I am going to glorify God. So I guess what I am trying to say is that please don't stop reading my blog because I sound like a Debbie Downer. I am thinking about becoming an Ursula Upper.