|Could it be true? Are my|
best years behind me?
Actually, the day started out pretty good! The Sun was shining (like it was flippin’ MARS!) and the birds were singing (and honking and clucking) and I was getting dressed to leave the house. That’s when I noticed the old bra peeking out of my dresser. I approached it with more than a little trepidation, almost afraid of any attempts to try it on.
But try it on I did. That’s when the mystical light shone through the window, illuminating me in all my bra-clad glory! IT FIT! Try to understand…this bra? Actually had a member of the Alphabet in front of the rib-cage measurement (A) and didn’t just say, “Small”! Yes, My boobs were back!!!
I knew I had been putting on a little weight lately, but I never dreamed the “girls” had joined in on the expansion. Being able to claim an alphabet (A) designation again almost made up for the fact that the number inside the waistband of my jeans had doubles over the last six months!
As I stood there in my shocked silence, eyes closed lest a tear sneak past, I inhaled deeply and prepared myself for the next “phase” of the process…I opened my eyes, sucked in my gut, and looked down! Yes, Ladies, I actually performed the “Do my breastacles stick out further than my belly?” test! (I am that darn brave!) With the aid of some strategically placed padding and an iron-clad under-wire, I passed!!! (Oh COME ON guys! We’ve all heard of the “*dickie-doo” thing…stop cringing!)
My happiness lasted through-out most of the day, as I veritably “bounced” from place-to-place, chest thrust forward, (actually having something to “thrust” for the first time in YEARS!) as I ran errands. It wasn’t until later in the evening that the reality of the situation hit home…
|I'm sorryguys, but I just|
about fell out of my chair,
I was laughing so hard!
I had “freed the girls” from their prison of foam and satin for the evening, donned my Tinkerbell jammies, and stretched-out on the couch to fall asleep to the dulcet tones of hubby’s favorite programming, “Deadliest Catch.” I lay down on my left side, using hubby’s thigh as my pillow, effectively trapping him for the next two hours…*insert devious giggle here*
Something was different tonight. I couldn’t get comfy. I kept twitching, flopping like a one-legged frog attempting to break the longest-hop record. Hubby was getting more and more agitated as my head slammed repeatedly into his thigh in my quest for an accommodating sleeping position. (Hey, I only caused a mild hematoma. He was just being a baby!)
I finally realized what the problem was…and my spirit broke. It would seem that without the pre-formed cup-of-captivity, Lefty had slid down and come to rest in my un-shaven armpit. Just to add insult (and injury) the stubble had managed to act as sandpaper and rubbed part of the poor thing raw! Yes, I had reached the age of pit-worthy saggage!
It just wasn’t fair! I always knew gravity sucked, but this? Really? I thought we women had to attain the whole “baseball-in-a-tube-sock" status BEFORE we achieved pit-saggage. Me? I’m more like "golf-ball-in-an-anklet!" (They shouldn’t even be able to REACH my pits, let alone establish a Summer Home there!)
And that’s how I ended up in the bathroom, a single, silent tear sliding sadly down my cheek as I gently applied ointment to my stubble-burned boob, knowing that regardless of any non-existent maturity level, middle age had arrived. *sigh*
May your day be filled with “girls” that know their proper “place,” not even a second thought about your fiber intake, and NO stubble-burn of any kind! (Why the heck am I suddenly craving prunes and where did I leave my "Reader’s Digest?")
*dicky-doo: For the sheltered Ladies in the crowd, dicky-doo is the state of a man’s stomach sticking out further than his dicky-doo. *falls over on the kitchen table laughing*