So much for wordless, eh?
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Wordless Wednesday
I've seen this Wordless Wednesday thing on many blogs of late & have decided to be a shameless copycat. While hiking last week I realized, while looking back on the trail & all the hikers, that we looked like a bunch of ants. Unfortunately the picture didn't come out at all like what my eyes saw...so I played with it.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
The Intoxication of Bra Shopping
Since I entered this little piece to a contest, DM is referred to as Joseph.
I woke up at 6:30 on a Saturday morning with a Mimosa under my nose. “Drink this, we’re going bra shopping.”
Bra shopping is no fun. Bra shopping when you are a 36 DDD is as entertaining as cleaning a public restroom with a toothbrush. After seventeen years of marriage, my husband Joseph has finally realized that the only way for me to go bra shopping is if I’m nicely potted.
“Drink up. There’s a door buster.”
A half hour later, I’m on the hunt, stumbling off to find my quarry. I was confident! I was empowered! I was sloshed. The bras in my cup size are generally located on the lowest racks since the weight of these babies apparently makes us hunch over anyway. I scooped up a half dozen while doing my Quasimodo, blearily apologizing to every rack I toppled on my way to the dressing room.
In that confined space, I realized that the temperature was ten degrees warmer than the rest of the store. Uncomfortable and sweating and I hadn’t tried anything on yet! After squeezing, shimmying, twisting and struggling into those contraptions, I felt like I’d been in a sauna. I tried out a sports bra and felt like I was all set for a mammogram. Removing it took five minutes and had me spinning like a break-dancer and bumping into the door causing the attendant to see if I needed help.
“Sssaalrite!” I replied as the bra finally broke free with a THWAP. She never came back.
My cell phone chirped and I dug it out of my pocket to discover Joseph had sent me pictures of several mannequins wearing bras that I couldn’t have worn after my first month of puberty. With a giggle, I fought my way into a pushup model that made me look like I was auditioning for a part in an opera, held out my phone, snapped a shot and sent it to him.
I immediately had the sort of second thoughts that freeze heart, soul and brain into a single icy column. What had I just done? Had I even sent it to the right number?
Choosing two bras more or less at random, I burst out of the stall, shoved them at Joseph and stumbled away without a look back. I’d lost five pounds of water weight along with untold brain cells. I lay on the wall outside the store. The clouds were so pretty, birds singing so cheerfully that I was thinking that maybe bra shopping wasn’t so bad after all. Then I fell off the wall…into the bushes…
Joseph appeared over me, cell phone in hand, and called me a silly drunk.
I woke up at 6:30 on a Saturday morning with a Mimosa under my nose. “Drink this, we’re going bra shopping.”
Bra shopping is no fun. Bra shopping when you are a 36 DDD is as entertaining as cleaning a public restroom with a toothbrush. After seventeen years of marriage, my husband Joseph has finally realized that the only way for me to go bra shopping is if I’m nicely potted.
“Drink up. There’s a door buster.”
A half hour later, I’m on the hunt, stumbling off to find my quarry. I was confident! I was empowered! I was sloshed. The bras in my cup size are generally located on the lowest racks since the weight of these babies apparently makes us hunch over anyway. I scooped up a half dozen while doing my Quasimodo, blearily apologizing to every rack I toppled on my way to the dressing room.
In that confined space, I realized that the temperature was ten degrees warmer than the rest of the store. Uncomfortable and sweating and I hadn’t tried anything on yet! After squeezing, shimmying, twisting and struggling into those contraptions, I felt like I’d been in a sauna. I tried out a sports bra and felt like I was all set for a mammogram. Removing it took five minutes and had me spinning like a break-dancer and bumping into the door causing the attendant to see if I needed help.
“Sssaalrite!” I replied as the bra finally broke free with a THWAP. She never came back.
My cell phone chirped and I dug it out of my pocket to discover Joseph had sent me pictures of several mannequins wearing bras that I couldn’t have worn after my first month of puberty. With a giggle, I fought my way into a pushup model that made me look like I was auditioning for a part in an opera, held out my phone, snapped a shot and sent it to him.
I immediately had the sort of second thoughts that freeze heart, soul and brain into a single icy column. What had I just done? Had I even sent it to the right number?
Choosing two bras more or less at random, I burst out of the stall, shoved them at Joseph and stumbled away without a look back. I’d lost five pounds of water weight along with untold brain cells. I lay on the wall outside the store. The clouds were so pretty, birds singing so cheerfully that I was thinking that maybe bra shopping wasn’t so bad after all. Then I fell off the wall…into the bushes…
Joseph appeared over me, cell phone in hand, and called me a silly drunk.
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