I’m having a little bit of writer’s block here. This is my third attempt. First I was going to write about PMS because I’m in the middle of that right now and I’m bloated, crampy, and mostly irritated by air.
Then I gave up on that and was writing an ode to my boobs. My sad, used up, four pregnancy surviving, weight lost, gained, lost, and gained back again, and now lost, almost 40 year old boobs. Poor girls never stood a chance and I blame myself. If you are young, please appreciate your unfettered breasts. They definitely serve a biological purpose and whether you intend to ever use them for that purpose or not, just admire them for all of their pertness and fullness and ability to hold form and shape without the aid of underwire and sturdy straps. If you ever find yourself in Mardi Gras? Flash somebody. Just do it. You’ll never see any of those people again. Or go to a topless beach somewhere in Europe and just revel in how gorgeous you are. Do it for me. Do it for my boobs.
If I attempted to tan topless basically I would burn the spot betwixt my blessings and have super unflattering tan lines by my armpits.
Being a woman is not for the faint of heart on a number of levels. Case in point when the dealership called our home to talk to us about the vehicle we purchased from them a few years ago and wanted to talk to my husband about “his car”. Um, it’s not his, it’s mine. I researched it. I had a full on discussion with our salesman at the time about how powerful the motor was I thought I needed and mileage expectations and I negotiated the financing.I may have sad deflated boobs and be lacking a penis (or at least a visible one) but my brain is firmly intact thanks.
We had the same experience when we went to get our first mortgage 14 years ago. The broker spoke exclusively to my spouse until he clued in, after a solid 20 minutes, that I was the one answering him about our finances and discussing interest rates and so forth. Again, my lack of balls (and I do have a set of those, big ones, but they really aren’t visible and don’t require adjusting every 10 minutes) does not mean I don’t understand how much pretty coloured paper money I’m going to need to buy Barbie’s Dream House (or a cute bungalow with a wicked water problem in the basement).
Also I’m well aware I’m contradicting myself by referring to my bravado, toughness, and level of kick ass-ness by referring to having male anatomy but unfortunately, any reference to female genitalia is negative. Typically it means someone is either a wimp (which is stupid – vaginas BIRTH BABIES and there is nothing weak about that) or that they’re a class A asshole or worse, hence the ‘C’ word. Some people don’t like to use that word because they find it ‘harsh’. I am not one of those people. I use it like it’s going out of style although I will admit it’s not one I’ll use in front of my children.
What’s my point? I don’t know. My boobs make me sad, I have PMS, and I’m pissed at all things sexist; and it’s only Tuesday. Also my coping mechanism for all of these emotions is to turn to my best pal, buddy o’mine, and crutch: food. We had McDonald’s for supper last night. My husband suggested it and I’m sure he was anticipating a hard “NO” back from me, and instead he got an “I don’t even care and I want a 2 Cheeseburger Meal.” I also ate some leftover chips and bean dip last night and then whipped up a chocolate chip square just after 9 last night and had a piece of that before bed, no wait make that 2. I literally just remembered that I took the long way upstairs to bed last night – I went through the kitchen just to grab a second square and eat it on the way upstairs and tried to hide that fact from my husband. For the record going through the kitchen to our bedroom is not even the “long way”, it’s the “out of the way”. Opposite ends of the house.
So yeah, not so much in line with my goals. I am trying to re-set my mind frame and get back to where I was on Friday. Yes, four days ago. A lot can happen in four days. On Friday I was singing my own praises after learning I was only 10 pounds away from my goals and if I stepped on a scale right now there is a good chance I’d have a broken bathroom window after said scale took a short cut to outside. I’m not dumb. I likely haven’t actually gained a pound but thanks to Super Bowl party indulgences Sunday and last night’s PMS/fatigued fueled binge, I am for sure retaining some fluid – on top of what Mother Nature provides at this time of the month as well. I feel pretty.
The line: “Hallelujah! Holy Shit! Where’s the Tylenol?!” just popped into my head and I think it’s fitting (despite not being that time of year…if you don’t know this quote, I don’t know you and you don’t know me and let’s not speak of it again).