The Sarong should be called the "So Wrong"

I don't get it.  It's hard enough for women to fit into clothes--especially when they keep trying to squeeze into "their size" even though "their size" is no longer their size.  I speak from experience on this one.  I have not been happy with the way I've been looking in my clothes.  It seems that "nothing is working for me."  Finally, I had a meeting with myself and decided to go ahead and try "the next size up."  When that size didn't fit I went up another size....and this time it fit...but it was snug.  When I blocked out the number on the tag I realized how comfortable I was and how good the shorts fit.  Apparently the only way to feel skinny (not 'look skinny'...FEEL) is to buy clothing in the size you  never dreamed  you would ever ever wear (the size you never even fit into when pregnant!) and whallah!  Then, just when I had accepted the fact that the battle between me and my metabolism had not only been fought, but won....(only not by me)...I had to slip into a bathing suit (actually "slip" is not the best descriptor here...."squeeze/suck/squint" would be more appropriate).  Despite the fact that I am no longer in my 20s...okay...no longer in my 30s...I still managed to pull off a bikini.  I found that the one-piece suits actually "rounded me out" too much considering the fact that not only do I have a pronounced sway-back...but I also have a pronounced back-side.  Well...just the other day...when I knew I would be in a suit IN PUBLIC...I opted for a one-piece...but it was in "slimming black."  The label on the tag told me I was trying on a "sarong."  In truth it fit and it did pretty much what it was designed to do...swallow my pride.  But the problem I have with suits that are purchased to "hide," "disguise," "cover up," our "supple" skin on our tummies and thighs and buttocks is the fact that the suit covers up our top half.  Don't most women have "areas of concern" in their lower half?  If it were up to me I'd wear a suit that started at the ankles and ended at the top of the belly button!!  But even that is just SO WRONG!  Come on winter!!  The season where only faces and hands are exposed!!!

H2OMG!

It has suddenly dawned on me that I have "crossed over."  I am now in the category of women who actually get into the water to cool off.  I don't give a hoot about a tan, and I jog in place with the hopes that when I towel off my thighs will not only be taut, but about as big around as the curling iron I no longer use because who uses those things anymore?  It's all about the flat iron now.  Flat, flat, flat.  I do not like that word anymore.  In fact, it has become a four-letter word to me.  "Flat" is a bad tire!  

I now own a bathing suit that has a built-in skirt.  I consider it "dressing up" to go swimming.  I no longer get goosebumps or "test the water" before getting in.  I don't worry about mascara running because makeup has become "one more thing" that I have to take off at night.  I'm sick of layers, whether it be in clothing or in my hair.  I no longer "suck in" because it doesn't look any different when I don't.  I'm past the sticker shock of the size on the tag...I just want something that is bigger than I am so I feel comfortable.  I used to pay $30 for a 2 tiny pieces of material...now I pay $12 for one large piece.  The fact that we are in the middle of one of the worst droughts on record has done nothing for my broken internal thermostat.  Back when there was water and I owned a bikini, I was always too cold to jump in.  Now...it's hotter than hell and I feel like creating some waves!

Brace Yourself

My thirteen year old daughter got braces today.  Prior to this her life was "over" at the mere thought.  Now...not so much.  The hardest part (for me) was listening to her list of worries (she's a brooder like her mother).  While I could certainly understand her plight I found it hard to relate as I was pretty much "okay with it" when I got braces at her age.  Her teeth are relatively straight...it's more of a "jaw alignment issue" for her.  We're looking at approximately 14 months of payments...er...braces. The price tag is a definite eye-opener for a bargain hunter like me.  Wouldn't it be nice if items such as braces went on sale every now and then?  BOGO BRACES!!! (that's Payless Shoe's "Buy One Get One" slogan for those of you who may not have ever shopped at a place with "Pay Less" in its title).  As for me...I absolutley love thrift stores and rummage shops.  In fact, earlier in the day I purchased a diamond ring for $4.77...same price I paid for the chair I'm sitting in right now!  Okay...I'll admit...there's a slight chance the "diamond"  (which is at least 1 carat) is not real.....but....it could be.  But back to the braces.....while I probably wouldn't buy a set of "gently worn" braces for my daughter it would be nice to find them on sale.  The very thought of plunking down a LOT of money on anything gets me all queasy inside and yet today I handed over a check in which the amount box was a tad too small for the amount.  And I was buying something that A)my daughter did NOT want; B)was going to sink my daughter's self esteem; and C)was, quite frankly, not fashionable.  Can you just imagine what I could have bought instead??  We're talking items the likes of A)a sports car; B)a small swimming pool; and C)an entirely fun, cute, and fashionable wardrobe!  It's so weird how we deprive ourselves of some of the things we want because they cost so much and yet we'll fork over the funds for items such as A)a new transmission; B)a new pump for a dried up well; and C)torture devices for our children because...let's face it....they all could use a little straightening up....and, darn it, you just can't put a price tag on that.

The Long and Shorts of it

Oh the weather outside is HOT!  So off I went to buy some shorts for the kids.  Is it just me or are the girls' shorts getting shorter and the boys' shorts  getting longer?  When I held up my son's shorts they looked like capris on me!  And when I held up my daughter's shorts they looked .... well...we just won't go there! 
It's times like these when it is fun to have "one of each"...a son and a daughter.  I obviously don't have to listen to fights about having to share clothes.  But I do enjoy having a boy and a girl in my life.  Their interests and their personalities never cease to warm me.  They have inadvertantly opened my eyes to the differences in the sexes.  On a daily basis I am reminded of just how body conscious girls can be and how oblivious boys are.  I see first-hand how guys grab an article of clothing off the rack and buy it while girls have to finger every item in the store, try on one of each color, debate over an indecipherable hue difference, and then 'narrow it down' to the "final 15" choices.  Boys can get by on two pair of shorts all summer long while girls need multiple shorts in multiple lengths, colors, and textures.  And so the saga continues well into adulthood.  There is no use trying to figure it out....we are the way we are because that's just the way we are!
(That being said: this girl will not only be purchasing longer shorts this summer but they will be camouflaged as well!)

Room to Grow

I am sitting on the floor in front of the girls' dressing room at a local department store where I am practicing parental patience breathing techniques. My twelve year old daughter is behind closed doors trying on clothes...need I say more?

We have been here all of 9 minutes and my pulse is excellerating. I fear being rolled out of here atop a gurney...the day I don't have on so much as under-eye concealer but I do have on three-sizes-too-small undies. When asked if I have an existing heart condition I'll feebly raise my palid hand and point to my preteen. When pressed for more details I'll be forced to relive the moments I was forced to endure the irrational illogic that can only spew forth from a girl in a dressing room who wants the way-too-tight/too-small pair of jeans; insisting that it doesn't matter because her yet-to-be-purchased tops will cover them up. After a VERY slow and deep inhale and exhale (and with the deliberate ommission of the oh-so obvious notion that the jeans cost money and will be outgrown BEFORE school even starts) I simply said, "No." (This would be the part where the drama kicked in).

Yes, people, I remember what it was like to be that age...I STILL feel that way! I still want to look like the actresses in the movies; I still try to copy the models in the magazines. However, I have yet to figure out a way to actually afford it all...other than bargain hunting, making do, or doing without. (It is important to note that one would be hard pressed to convince a twelve year old girl to adopt any one of the three above-mentioned options).

It has now officially been an hour and "we" have only been trying on pants.

...6:00 p.m....still here...

Okay...I caved on one pair of skinny jeans, but held firm on the flare legs (I know...I know...it should have been the other way around...), she got her way on a pair of denim capris (but only because they were the last ones and in "her" size), but I did my best to convince her that she really looked better in "the next size up" pair (keeping my fingers crossed on this one).

Myself...well...I was in need of a new black belt and a new brown belt. In true "make-do" fashion I found a reversible belt that served both needs. Now if I can just keep myself from passing up the last notch on the belt it will have been completely worth the trip!

Meanwhile...Back at the Ranch...

I woke up this morning with 42 minutes to spare before needing to rush out the door. In those 42 minutes I needed to wash my hair, put on makeup, fix coffee, eat breakfast, let the chickens out of the coop, feed the chickens, clean out the chickens' water containers, make sure the cat had enough fresh water for the day, and drive for an hour to a bridal shower. I made it to the shower at exactly 10:00 on the dot...right on time. Here's how I did it: I took care of all of the creatures first (I'd rather be late than have pets die on my watch). I probably still have shampoo residue in my hair, but I washed and rinsed as fast as one can with very little water pressure. I managed to locate the single, shiny, silver packet of Pop-Tarts hiding behind a box of pasta in the pantry--along with two travel thermoses--and had me a literal breakfast to-go! I had on enough facial bronzer to give the illusion of a restful and carefree lifestyle and enough lycra to hold in the midsection to give the illusion of a fit and firm existence. I was able to rummage through one of my many junk drawers and find a Crayola marker (unfortuntely it was the washable kind) in the exact shade of brown I needed to color in the exposed white plasticky portion of a broken heel on my single pair of brown strappy sandals. As long as I remembered to cross my legs left over right I would be able to keep up my charade as a put-together person.

Big Red Float

I had done so well

My reasoning valid

I gave up tacos

For a plain old salad

The ruffage was needed

My body would thank me

I was well on my way

To feeling so skinny

I swallowed my water

Eight glasses my quota

No more carbonation

No more evil soda

And then came my dad

Bounding into the kitchen

And wait 'till you hear

Just what he did mention
"How would y'all like

A Big Red Float?!"

I could instantly feel

The onslaught of bloat

But this was no time

To dismiss his request

For that would be rude

And I was their guest

While sipping my drink

As if I were three

I wished my parents

A Happy 42nd Anniversary!

No Food For Thought

As someone relatively new to the world of diet & exercise I have to say it sucks. That's right...I used one of my all time most hated words...in print! I have enjoyed a blessed stint as the beneficiary of a high metabolism but, as they say, all good things must come to an end. That is why I have tried to start the year off right. I have made a gallant effort to drink more water, eat salad for lunch, and, dare I say it, exercise. The hard part has been putting a muzzle on my hunger. I am always hungry and I want nothing but junk. A York Peppermint Patty seems to do what a leaf of lettuce can't. After I do get a cardio workout in I am only thirsty for a cold beer...with a twist of lime (does that count as a fruit?...a vegetable?...) After my third workout my right hip is screaming, "GIVE ME GLOCOSAMINE CHONDROITIN!! NOW!!

To help with the pain I am on my second glass of red wine...grapes are a fruit, right?

A Permanent Solution

We all remember our first perm...the anticipation and excitement of looking exactly like "that girl" we see at school mixed in with a little nerves---fear of walking out of the salon looking like a clown instead. But, we stick it out and allow our heads to be tortured in the name of beauty.

A couple of days ago my daughter got her first perm. She is in the middle of her 6th grade year and, like her, I got my first perm in the 6th grade too. Of course, my hair had just grown out from a Dorothy Hamill cut--but not by much because I walked out of the salon on the clown end of the spectrum. Needless to say I kept perming my hair until the middle of high school. At least my daughter's hair is all one length and falls just below her shoulders.

As she sat in the chair, as giddy as ever, it all came flooding back to me: my mother nearby and circling my chair--a woman well-experienced in the perm world. The pungent odor of the perm solution wafting all around me and covering everyone else in the salon--much like the scent of a skunk...it does not leave you once you've become victim to it. The long strip of cotton the stylist would wedge between my hairline and the extra tight rods...as if sealing my head with an O ring...a rubber seal that never really worked. She would then vanish to who knew where (though I know now it was off to a sectioned off lair where all kinds of goodies were kept). I can still remember sitting in that chair looking hideous in my tight perm rods housed inside a clear plastic bubble of a cap...as if I were a walking green house; the cold, yet burning liquid sneaking out from underneath the now soaked through strip of cotton. Do I dab at it? Do I let it drip? Do I wave my hands and try to get somebody's attention? Just when I thought I couldn't take the punishment any longer the stylist would emerge like Glinda the Good Witch and replace the cotton strip...and then, like Glinda, she would float away. And, finally, the time would come for a good rinse...relief at last...or so I thought. I don't think my neck has ever hurt as badly as it did when I was kid, lying atop my perm rods, in the crook of that hard as hell sink. But then...it was all worth it...this girl had curls.

Fast forward to my own daughter, now sitting in the chair. Her hair is as straight as a board (like mine) and the time has finally come. After an hour and a half the rods were removed and ... nothing. NO CURLS!
Right then and there my daughter's stylist said, "I'm re-doing this perm right now" (it was 7:00 at night). I told her thanks, but we could reschedule for another day/time. She insisted, saying, "If I was a girl who thought she was going to wake up in the morning with curls...then I would want curls!" What a woman!! The owner, who was walking out the door, purse in hand, turned right back around, set her purse down on the floor and offered to help. The stylist and the owner began working on my daughter in tandem...one on the left; the other on the right. I left the three of them alone and drove on home (I live about 5 miles down the road). my daughter's stylist lives a mile from us so she offered to bring my daughter home with her when she was finished. When I got the call it was well after 8:00 and I was out checking a hog trap with my husband, son, and a friend of mine and her son. We all jumped into our old army jeep and took off. It was cold outside and the moonlight was enough to light our way. We picked up my daughter and saw her smile before we saw her curls. In this day and age it is so nice to know there are still people who go the extra mile...because they remember what it was like to be a young girl.

There is something to be said about big hearted people working in a small town salon. A mother's thank you goes out to our stylist Karmia and owner Pam!

Mirror Mirror On The Wall

Have you ever noticed that when your clothes no longer fit you suddenly feel the need to go shopping?! Shopping for things like shoes, purses, jewelry, and hair care products? These are all things that help us to feel and look pretty....okay...sometimes just feeling pretty is enough. Even when we have a strong self-esteem it is frustrating to not look the way we feel. And so, we reach into the back of our closet for "those jeans"...the ones that are so damn comfortable (because they are our current size like it or not). These jeans, for a moment, make us feel good because we can actually fit into something...something not so restricting. When we are constantly aware of our breath, our posture, and the way our inseam feels ... well ... it ain't pretty. And so we put on one of "those tops" that are flowy and long...way below the butt long. We avoid those ridiculous full length mirrors and instead refer to the one the size of our face...the make up mirror. This circle of light allows us to focus on the color of our eyes and the glow in our cheeks. We can check out our earrings and we can pucker our lips. We can cover ourselves in a shower of our favorite perfume and we can curl or straighten our hair to our heart's content. We can store all of the above products in our new purse and we can hold our head high knowing that there is still a part of us that is intact.

The End is Near

I just got in from a 2 mile walk...that's right...count 'em...2 miles baby!!! I figured that I better make good on my '08 resolution to walk/exercise this year...and...since it is still 2008 I thought I better fit that one in real quick. I am the ultimate procrastinator...and pretty damn proud of it!! To help give me a leg up on the inevitable "I'm going to eat more fruits and veggies and exercise regularly and get 8 hours of sleep and drink 8 glasses of water and write more and read more and keep up with the dishes and the laundry more" routine of making a new year's list of resolutions (perhaps I should actually print out a master copy of my list (which has been unchanged since 1982) and simply change the date at the top of it) I went ahead and purchased a bag full of yoga pants and tank tops. (No, I don't do yoga...and No, I won't wear the tank without a zippered jacket over it)...but nothing spurs girls on than new clothes!



Having stayed up past midnight for two nights in a row I am curious to see if it can be done tonight...the night it is supposed to be done. We have plans to go over to the neighbor's house so at least we won't be going far. This means that a nap is in high order! Besides that the walk flat out wore me out!!!

Don't Have Time for Laundry? Maybe You Just Need to Change Perfume!

Ever the bargain hunter, I have stumbled upon a steal of a deal when it comes to a new scent for the winter. Just this morning, in fact, I sprayed myself silly with the hopes of smelling good to all who came near me. Unlike the competing perfumes which can run $50+a bottle (and a tiny bottle at that), this scent comes in 27.0 fl.oz….all for the incredibly low price of less than $6.00 a bottle! The name of this fresh-smelling scent is febreze...doesn't it just sound clean?! I no longer have to count the number of sprays I administer...why, just this morning, when trying to revive a pair of wollen tights-that had every reason to be thrown away-- I just sprayed away...whallah! Instant-Presto!

Just In Case

Tonight I will be attending my faculty Christmas party. An entire restaurant has been reserved for us. A live jazz band will be playing and gifts will be exchanged. I am actually looking forward to it. Or maybe I am simply looking forward to having the opportunity to dress up and go out.

This, of course, leads to the infamous question of “What to wear?” I know many people will spend the day shopping for just the right outfit to wear. I, on the other hand, will do what I have always done—make do. Truth be told I actually bought a fun little black dress with white satin straps and a rhinestone centerpiece. I bought it on a blowout sale for a price that screamed, “You’d be stupid if didn’t snatch this baby up!” Well, I’m no dummy and I have had that bargain of a dress hanging in its plastic bag home for 4 months now. I bought it not only because it was a steal, but I thought it wise to be prepared in the event that I actually had to be somewhere worthy of cocktail dress attire…a kind of Girl Scout mentality if you will.
Tonight’s party actually called for just such a dress so off I went to my closet-a mere 3 hours before the party-to try it on for the first time since I bought it. Now, I must alert you to the fact that a lot has transpired in the past four months. Things such as weight gain and neglect. The dress fit in a maternity sort of way…not exactly the look I was going for. It looks best when worn with sparkly and strappy heels, but that would mean “showing off” my verygross veins…and when worn with boots it morphs into something a little more “appropriate” for an activity like street walking.

Since the clock was ticking I reached for my backup outfit…another little number I grabbed off the rack in a mad dash to the checkout line because I had to rush to pick up one child or another. This outfit poses quite the risk as it is white. White is great for a-people who do not have kids, and b-people who do not work in an elementary school, and for c-people who do not live at the end of a dirt road. I bought it anyway because, you guessed it, it was on sale. The pants only drag the ground by 3 inches but I did not let that prevent me from claiming them as my own.

Now that it was down to crunch time I ripped open the packet of 'Stitch Witchery' that I had purchased several years ago (just in case & after another rash purchase of extra long but oh so cheap pants). After a phone call to Mom and a frantic search for something that would do as a "pressing cloth," I set to work. I dampened my daughter's old Hello Kitty pillowcase, cut strips of stitch witchery cloth, and pressed away. Believe me, if I could've found my hot glue gun I'd have used that as well. My prayer is that the makeshift hem lasts through the night...but, the scout in me will, nonetheless, pack some socks, tennis shoes, and a stapler in the trunk...just in case!

Size Matters

At the rate I am going I should open up my closet to the public and start selling my clothes. I have enough clothes in enough sizes to make a profit. Petite? No problem...why don't you try on some of my size 2 jeans and my Xsmall shirts? Small, but tall? Not a problem! Why don't you try on some of my size 4 pants? How about the small, tight-fitting shirt? Feeling bloated? Check out my size 6 quasi-blue jean/pants...you can cuff 'em and wear with boots...coupled with the belly-hiding jacket. Past bloated and onto 'face the music-you've put on weight'? Why don't you go for my size 10 skirts? These will make you forget all about your inability to suck it in. Slip on the Large blouse and you'll be styling in your new 'bohemian' look...hey...works for me!

So now I have a closet full of nothing to wear and I have it in every size. I can't get rid of the small sizes because those are the cute clothes (nevermind the fact that not only do they not fit but they look as if they never ever could have ever fit me and will never ever ever fit me again...at least not in the same way). I don't want to keep the larger sizes because ... well...because they're large. I don't know why I have so many different items because I really only wear my pajamas, my velour sweat suits, and my two black mix and match combos. I feel safer in winter because I stay bundled up (which is quite the challenge these days as the weather is nowhere near the "wear fleece" end of the themometer).

I'm starting to "listen to my body" --not because all of the magazines tell me to--but because I can actually hear it. It moans and groans every time I have to get up...or get down. It creaks if I bend and it flaps if I run. Basically it is screaming at me to get active and get back in shape. And so, I come before you today, declaring that I will actively attempt to get into shape...I just can't decide which shape that is.

Big Shoes to Fill

I'm typing this from the comfort of my Mom and Dad's house. The kids and I come by often whenever we need to kill some time between after school activities. Tonight we're all going to listen to my daughter sing as a member of our school district's Honor Choir. Tonight will be her first winter concert as a member. She will be wearing a beautiful black velvet and crepe dress. I had to rush to Walmart between classes today to get her a pair of heels in order to compensate for the fact that we decided not to hem the inches-too-long dress. Since she had rehearsal yesterday I had to buy a pair of shoes without the benefit of her trying them on first. I ended up buying two pair-just in case. Both pair were too big so I made the exchange today and lucked out. I think we just may get by without stepping on her dress.

This reminds me of all of the times I had to "make do" as a young girl (and still do). One memory in particular has me trying out for the "County Queen" at the fair grounds. I was in a borrowed pink satin prom dress (of which I had to stuff the top portion with paper towels) and matching pink very HIGH heels that Mom and I had purchased at Solo Serve on San Pedro for $3.00. Since they did not have my size-but I desperately needed the height of the heel in order for the dress to fit-we ended up buying those babies (which I stuffed paper towels into the toe portion). I did not win the pageant but I should have won an Oscar for the acting job I pulled off walking "gracefully" down the aisle and up the steep steps.

Tonight, my daughter is going to have to balance herself well as she stands tall , and I hope that she feels beautiful and confident. I know the girls were encouraged to wear flats, but sometimes a girl just has to do what a girl has to do...and if that means making do with what she has then so be it! (And for the record: my daughter did look beautiful, and tall...but at least her dress did not drag the ground!)

Hallow-weaning

We are two days away from Halloween...a scary thought isn't it? Well, to me it is. I am scared because I have not made costumes, I have not purchased costumes, I have not even suggested costumes. I have not bought pumpkins, I have not carved a pumpkin, I have no desire to see a pumpkin. The very idea that I will be in the proximity of every kind of delicious candy ever manufactured has me wanting to hole up somewhere far far away until Monday.

Yes, my kids are getting older and it's not exactly the same...the anticipation isn't there (except for the candy part). But the fact of the matter is I am getting older and it ain't exactly the same either. I'd really like nothing more than to shove the kids out the door with a flash light, a cell phone, and a pair of my pantyhose over their heads. But, we live out in the middle of nowhere so by the time they reached the first house they would no doubt be fighting and out of breath or out of batteries. This means that we have to stay in town after school/work until it's "time" to trick or treat...except THIS year the daylight savings time will not decend upon us until after Halloween--not good. There is nothing like pacing back and forth until what feels like 9:00 at night to walk more blocks than you'd ever walk intentionally for any form of exercise--only to return home with a pillowcase FULL of SUGARY SWEETS and POTENTIAL POISON. "Sweet dreams darlings...Mommy's just going to go through all of your candy to make sure it's safe to eat..." translates as "Get your butts in bed NOW! I want to pilfer the good stuff pronto before you remember what you got!"

This technique generally results in getting one's body ready to stretch in preparation for the feasting trifecta of Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas.

Warning Signs

"Check Engine Oil" "Tire Pressure Low" "Pull Over Now!"
I currently have two warning lights illuminated on the control panel of my car. I currently do not have time to do anything about them. First it was the tire pressure. I actually got out of the car and pressed my finger into all four tires...felt thick enough to me...and off I drove to work. Just this morning, when my engine exhaust system light blinked on I drove to the first stop sign I came to, put the car in park, turned off the ignition, restarted the car, and drove on down the road...with the warning light still on. Damn!

This got me thinking about our own system of warning signs. No, we don't (fortunately) have lighted symbols blinking on our foreheads--symbols like a broken heart or a tired soul. But we do have other signs...some we heed...most we ignore. When we aren't running on all four cylinders we tend to catch colds more frequently; we develop dark circles under our eyes, and we snap at our loved ones. When we neglect to take ourselves in for a regular maintenance check up we tend to develop things like spare tires, loose nuts, and the need for an oil change. While some of us opt for a trade-in others choose to keep the original model.

I have not been happy with my own warning signs these days. They have been blatant and they have been blaring. I guess it is time for me to either get a new paint job or take some laps around the track...I'm thinking blonde!

Lifetime Shavings Account

She shaved her legs today
Her soft blonde hair
Has washed away
Her legs now smooth
They glisten and shine
A growing child
That daughter of mine

Next she’ll want to paint her face
As she starts off in life’s great race
Always craving something new
Those younger years oh how they flew

Soon a car she’ll want to drive
And I’ll be left behind
No more my little shadow girl
This time I can’t rewind

And so I must learn to grow with her
To pave and lead the way
To make certain she always has someone
Who loves her everyday

Where once soft hairs rested
Dark spiky ones will grow
There’s just some unfun parts to growing up
A child simply can’t yet know

And so I gave permission
And helped her watch and learn
Unfortunately she’ll have to suffer
Her very first razor burn

At least some cooler weather
Is just around the bend
And long pants will be in season
And can be worn again and again

She begged and begged to shave those legs
Day in and day out
Now I’m the one counting the days
Until she loudly starts to pout

She’ll want to grow her hair out
Throw that razor out the door
It’s such an everyday ordeal
It’s quite the rotten chore

Thus the cycle of life starts spinning
And just when they finally grow up
They realize they actually had it good
‘Cuz grown up life just sucks

And this is just the beginning
There are many more battles to wage
If only one little razor
Could shave away our age

Guess What...I Have a Thutt!!

I thought epiphanies only happened when one's eyes were opened to something delighfully wonderful...like realizing that you finally know your true calling in life. Apparently epiphanies occur when not so wonderful things happen as well...such as coming to the realization, while viewing one's naked profile in the bathroom mirror, that you no longer have a "nut butt" perched atop your skinny thighs. Instead your butt and the back top portion of your thighs have merged into one thus creating a thigh-butt...or thutt.

I used to think my butt was too big--the way it stuck out at the end of my swaying back like a big round bubble...as a matter of fact 'bubble-butt' was the term used to reference my backside by those closest to me. But as time passes my rear is not the only thing that is sticking out these days. Instead of shrinking it to fit the rest of my body, I have since "grown into my butt."

I think for Halloween
I'll wear lime green
This costume will do in a pinch
For I pout and act and look and feel
Just like The Grinch!

In the Middle

I wore a skirt...a black skirt. I tried to look and feel pretty and professional. Big mistake. You see, I am in a quandary about what to do with my "look" lately. It seems that I am living out an eternal Venn Diagram of an existence. In the left circle I have blah clothes and shoes. In the right circle I have dressy dresses, cute pants, and marvelous high heels. Then there is the center circle...the one with a little of the left side of life and a little of the right side of life. That is where I am--the mixed up middle. I am holding on to my pretty clothes but am being forced out of my fabulous shoes. This presents quite the fashion faux paus. I just can't "do" flats with knee-length skirts. I need the elongation and stature heels afford me. In flats I am just that: flat...flat and short. Boring.

So, in order to maintain my own standard of dressing, I continue to dress up as much as possible. But there is yet another problem...I work in an elementary school library. Today found me on the floor of my workroom shuffling through plastic bags filled with Big Books...literally on the floor-skirt fanned out beneath me...my black skirt (now grey with dust). Fortunately I wore-get this-ballet Crocs with said skirt (I know...I need an intervention-pronto!) because during outside bus duty it poured down. It was then that I was actually glad that I had decided (against my better judgement) to forego looking decent from the knees down. Oh, and when I drove over to Johnny's Feed Store after work to buy a 22 pound bag of chicken feed I didn't even have to worry about what I stepped in.

Yup, it's true what they say, you can take a girl out of the country, but you can't take the country out of the girl. The only problem with this is that this country girl don't work in no barn (although it sometimes feels like it).