to 32B or not to 32B

Pastor: I like you better when you blog. Why aren't you blogging?

Me: Actually, I am working on a little something now. A couple of entries as a matter of fact.

Pastor: Oh yeah?

Me: Yep, I'm writing about how I want boobs.

Pastor: Well, don't talk about that!


OK, I won't talk about it. Directly. Its not like he made me swear on a Bible or anything. Ha!

I need to get this off my chest. Let's just get it out in the open. Because IF I were to do anything (and that's a very big IF), then you would notice. Let's not pretend.

Several incidents have occurred over the past few weeks which have made me desire slightly different, larger pieces of certain parts of my anatomy. Thing number one, I saw a picture of myself (no I won't be posting it). I was practically concave, and it wasn't my stomach.

Thing number two, I had a doctor's appointment last week, and the doctor asked me (jokingly) if I was planning on getting "that surgery" right after the first of the year. Ha ha. I explained to him it had crossed my heart before, but then I heard pain was involved. But the doctor said it would be easy-peasy for me. Two peas. My pods.

Sold! Of course, this is the same man who convinced me that having a baby was no big deal. Come to think of it, he was right! Having a baby was totally not a big deal!

Thing number three, the normally fun experience of shopping turned painful. For years I have thought there was some kind of conspiracy by manufacturers of certain articles of clothing. They didn't want me to have pretty things. Do you have any idea how much trouble I've had to go to to assemble my collection of no beiges and no whites allowed? But then when I actually did need a beige one, I realized it wasn't a conspiracy to keep me away from the pretty. It was a conspiracy to prevent me from owning this article of clothing altogether.

There's nothing more humiliating than a grown woman having to shop where they sell Mary Kate & Ashley's clothing.

Oh wait, but there is.

Then I got to go for my first ever photo session where they take parts of your body and squish and smash them and then take the pictures. The tech was showing me what to do, and how I'd have to hoist myself up on the shelf. Hoist. Thanks, but I don't think we'll be needing a crane here.

And finally, there are the upcoming holidays. You think holidays with your family are stressful? My family of origin has a garage decorated in autographed calendars. Let's just say they are not of Mother Theresa or Princess Di. While your family might gift Hickory Farms, at my parents it might be a mousepad or a shirt from that owl-themed restaurant chain or even better, something someone had to go to the owl-themed restaurant chain to purchase and have autographed. With every scrap of wrapping paper tossed on the floor, there goes another little piece of my self-esteem.

They have good curly fries, by the way.

I'm sure if I were to do anything, and again its a very big if, it would be the first in many flaws to be addressed. Don't even get me started about my internal problems. I'm just a little bit concerned that while watching television today I completely ignored a commercial about starving children overseas, but jotted down the phone number for the belly buster ball.

Yep, I'm seriously flawed.

1 comment:

Kate said...

OK Robyn, this blog confused me. Maybe it was because I was reading it on an itty bitty iphone screen. or maybe it was because I was on my millionth hour in the O.R. on Saturday and losing my mind. Take your pick.