My blog is about "This n' that, that n' this" and everything in between. Lately it has been about writing and various related stuffs. Today it is all about boobs and feet (Tits & Toes? No...a tad too crude I think...)
We'll start in the north -- in Boobville. Bra shopping was a big, fat, hairy monster lurking on my to-do list for ages. The old bras were getting so bad that I considered tucking 'the girls' into my socks to keep them supported (you are welcome for that visual by the way).
So my ample hiney and I go to Macy's. Bra shopping is a little bit like childbirth...you don't realize how painful it is until you are smack dab in the middle of it, nekkid as all get out!! Ok...maybe that was a bit overly dramatic, but y'all know what I'm driving at, right? Let me 'esplain....
The first small contractions = Trying to find your size in that cute style (and you can't).
The contractions get closer together = You find a style and size, but to be safe you need the next size up AND down and the next cup size up AND down (bras are like Jeans, no two manufactures are the same)...so now you are carrying a dozen of the same bra, same style -- just in case. Multiply by 2 if you find another style...and so on and so on and....
The contractions intensify = You are now standing half nekkid, boobies swinging free, in front of the most devious weapon known to womankind...the dressing room mirror. Pain with a capital "HOLY CRAP WHAT HAPPENED TO ME!?!?"
Real labor begins = You wiggle into your first bra, the optimistically smaller of the troop, and somehow avoid cutting yourself on the bazillion tags attached to it....annnnnd repeat (paper cuts imminent).
The head starts to crown = 14 bras later you are sporting red slash marks from the tags, you have a red rash running under your boobies from latching in front and twisting to the back and you are sweating like a marathon runner.
DELIVERY = THE LAST BRA FITS!
But wait...you aren't done.
Stitches (y'all know what this means, I'm not going into detail) = You try to find your size, in the bra that fit...in another color...the pain continues.
See...bra shopping = pain. The outcome of my labor and delivery was 2 bras, which required compromise...skwooshing myself into a smaller cup size, because the larger size looked like I could hide a small child in it. *shudder*
Let's travel south...feet here we come!
Plantar Fasciitis is a bitch who lays in wait for you to make plans....BIG plans, baby....and then she rears her head, waves her magic wand and cripples you.
Today I finally had enough and bought myself a pair of Crocs...pink, princessy Crocs. The only saving grace is that the detailing along the edge looks like a tiara, and I like tiaras. So, since going barefoot is the enemy right now (even for the slightest second), I'm going to wear these pink skwooshy (cool word of the day) shoe thingies until my foot feels better (you know...along with popping Advil, chasing it down with wine and propping it up while I stalk my friends on Facebook).
I'm now at the end of what I wanted to say and I've completely lost my train of thought -- I guess that means I'm done. So...my boobies and feet bid you adieu...until next time!