Lindsay Rae Brown
Lindsay Brown is a freelance writer who loves to give people a chuckle with relatable stories about everyday life.
Farting In Bed with Boys
I wouldn’t say that I’m prudish. I wear my hair down and enjoy the occasional raunchy convo with the girls. I’m never one to scoff at a joke made in poor taste because those jokes are usually the funniest.
I Woke Up to Strange Voices in my Home at 4 AM
There are strange voices in my house. My brain registers this immediately — men’s voices, but not my husband’s. My heart doesn’t so much thud against my rib cage but instead wedges itself there. It’s pumping wildly while my brain tries to work out why I hear these non-husband voices in my home at 4 o’clock in the morning.
Never Be A Fish Out of Water Again with the Art of Adaptation
I am crying in a tiny bathroom in the back of a bakery, asking myself how the hell I will do this business owner thing. Burnt cakes clutter the prep table in the kitchen, deflated choux pastry and the soggy remnants of what should have been a loaf of sun-dried tomato bread sully every available space in that tiny work area.
Growing Up In A Tourist Town Taught Me That The Customer Is Never Right
Sylvan Lake, Alberta, is a beautiful town full of wonderful touristy things to keep oneself occupied. Photo Credit: Elijah Brown (Sylvan Lake, AB)
Still Balls Deep In Love
Sometimes I worry that over the last 12 years, mine and my husband’s relationship has shifted in some detrimental way. Ten years ago, when we were twenty-somethings, with two young babes, we had so much hope pushing us forward.
You Are a Snowball
You are a snowball. Rolling downhill with unstoppable force. With each revolution, you grow and grow and grow. Everything that touches you sticks like glue upon an increasingly frozen surface.
Mentally Preparing For My Parent-Teacher Interview on Zoom
My dad used to be the kind of parent that would have to have a stiff rum and coke before attending any school function. I think that it was an undiagnosed social anxiety thing. You know, back before anyone cared about mental health and how it affects our lives on a profound level.
The Green Men
Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick. The watch, with the cracked face and broken minute hand, has finally stopped. Tock knows that some real shit is about to go down, and he's bowed out early. I don't blame him. The sound of boot heels overhead calls the tiny hairs on my body to stand at attention. The smell of acrid soil stuffs my nostrils as I recall the carefulness with which we moved down the cellar stairs. I know all too well what a sprained ankle might mean in the new world order. All the while, knowing my 13-year-old is still out there. Maybe he's already dead.