Two of my friends have had their photos used by imposters to scam people on Facebook just recently. 

Friend #1 learned about her imposter when it tried to sell baby stuff on Facebook and her friend from another city saw the listing. The imposter's fake profile was reported and taken down before anyone could fall prey. 

As for Friend #2, it was already too late when she found out about it. She was getting virtually sucker-punched by angry and frustrated victims after realizing they had been duped into sending their hard-earned money for nothing. Her face was posted on different groups, labeled with the most demeaning words while the real perp got away with it.

Well, that's scary.

This is not the first time I've heard of it. It happens all the time and it could happen to anyone—especially us, ordinary people whose faces are not easily recognizable by a lot of people.

But you know what scares me more?

The past few days had been quite a challenge because I was left alone to deal with two wild toddlers and a teen with raging puberty hormones. And as I watched them destroy the house while I slowly sipped my coffee, feet up, I had been thinking about how I will be rewarded for being great at maintaining a healthy marriage by allowing Jan to go on a three-day trip because I believed he needed to have some fun too.

I mean, Solen Heussaff gave Nico Bolzico no more than 24 hours to fly to Davao to hike Mt. Apo and back, while the husband was granted 3 freakin' days. How lucky can he get? I suppose he must have thought of rewarding me with something I truly deserve like an ultimate steak night date or a Vespa. The latter is mostly preferred, thank you.

And guess what?

I did not leave with a basket full of bright, colorful, and aesthetically pleasing stuff that are absolutely unnecessary. 

I could have done it, you know. The husband was a thousand miles away and no one else can dissuade me from buying whatever useless knickknack I fancy. All I have to do is swipe this little devil. 

I don't really get my fingernails done. 

My hands look too manly that no amount of hand spa and nail color can make it ladylike. My day to day activities are also not very friendly for long, prettyfied, manicured nails (I wash my children's bum, no thanks). So yeah, a trip to the nail salon is rather pointless.

But today, I went to get a manicure in preparation for an event this weekend. And while at it, I decided to have a softgel extension instead of a regular polish. Because why not? I will be free of kids and unwashed dishes for three days. Yay! 

I grew up in an era where the concept of Wishlist does not exist. In those days, whenever there is an "exchange gifts" during Christmas parties, the giver carries the burden of gift-giving—one that I carried ever since I started high school.

Of course, the whole world has to know.

Because I feel like a domestic goddess after doing such feat.

And just in case it doesn't happen again.

I don't know if there's a household chore more tedious than folding clothes. I would have seizures just thinking about it. Plus, it requires dexterity and a higher degree of patience to perform such simple task—and unfortunately, I do not possess the latter.

I thought I would have a long, uninterrupted sleep last night because for the first time in almost two years, I let our toddler sleep with my mom. 

But that much needed rest never happened. I was so uncomfortable with this belly that could pop anytime, the perpetual back pain, the need to pee every fifteen minutes, and the unbearable heat.

I often find myself reminiscing about the old days.

Those days when we get to eat out and go on spontaneous road trips every week. The time when we don't celebrate special occasions over food deliveries. The time when we conveniently fake fever to have an excuse for skipping work. Or those days when I can just hug and kiss my husband every time he comes home. Sigh.

I was mindlessly scrolling Facebook, when this appeared on my feed: