I have mirrors. I have a scale. I have clothes that keep “shrinking.” So it’s not like I need yet one more reminder that my middle-age spread continues to spread. But I got that reminder over the weekend when I made my annual “panty buying” trek to WalMart.
For years, I didn’t even wear panties. Gross, I know. But I was young and stupid and evidently gross. But then in my late 20s, someone turned me on to white cotton “granny” panties. (They didn’t turn ME on, but they turned HIM on, so I wore them and continue to do so today…even though HE is long gone.)
Some people obsess over panties—to the point that they match their panties to their outfit, and they only buy designer brands at certain stores. I’ve seen some of those string things they pay lots of money for. But that’s just not me… I consider them utilitarian: something that needs to function well but nothing more.
So this year, I decided to UPSIZE my cheap Fruit of the Loom undies from a size 7 to a size 8. The top right corner of the package reads:
Now, I’m not bilingual, but I’m smart enough to know what the tag means. It was bad enough having to upsize, but do I really need to be reminded in 3 languages that I’m FAT? :(
If you’re an occasional visitor to my blog or you don’t know me well, you might assume I think everything about getting old is funny. This couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m actually serious most of the time and can cry at the drop of a hat. (Okay, maybe that’s menopause…who knows?) Anyway, if you’re expecting my usual humorous post, come back some other time because “humor” isn’t on the menu today. And if I’ve blogged about this before—well, I don’t remember doing it so I’ll blame that on menopause, too!
The definitions of “clutter” include:
- a disorderly heap or assemblage; litter
- confused noise; clatter
- a state or condition of confusion
I’ve gradually reached a point where I am beginning to clear the clutter in my life. Some of it is simply an accumulation of things—too many objects gathering dust. Each of these things must have brought me joy at one time or another or I wouldn’t have hung onto them. But now the joy is gone. They have become litter, and (more…)
I stood in silence behind my husband in the darkness and watched as he knelt to the ground and pushed the layer of snow aside. Using a pick and a shovel, he then began to chip away at the frozen earth—little by little—until the shallow hole was the perfect size.
The stats helper monkeys at WordPress.com mulled over how this blog did in 2010, and (more…)
I try not to go to the doctor unless I can see bone OR something disturbing is growing in a place where others can see it (remember my thumb thang?) OR it’s time for my annual “place your boobs on this shelf and hang on for dear life while we smoosh them” exam.
But after waking up… (more…)
- Dressing in layers keeps you warm.
- Dressing in layers is likely to result in doing the pee-pee dance.
- The only thing more disturbing than the pee-pee dance is the poo-poo dance.
Two “bathroom” topics in a row. Hope it doesn’t become a trend.