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Tuesday, November 9, 2010

So Then My Dermatologist Said, "No More Underwires For You..."

This falls into the category of:
"Things That Don't Really Seem Like A Big Deal Until I Immaturely Consider The Ridiculous Ramifications on My Pathetic Life"

After dropping the Crazies at preschool, I raced to my dermatologist's office b/c I have a cyst under my boob...sexy, right?  Anyway, I need surgery (2 surgeries, but that's another story), but before surgery I need antibiotics to take away the irritation, but since I haven't seen her in a while, I needed to go in for my prescription...ya know, so I could sit in the waiting room for 40 minutes only to be seen for 5.

She's babbling along about what we're going to have to do and the timetable and all of that medical stuff when she drops the bomb...

YOU SHOULDN'T WEAR UNDERWIRE BRAS OR A BRA AT ALL FOR THAT MATTER.

I'm sorry...come again?  I'm pretty sure you just asked me to give up my underwire or my bra altogether.

What's that?  I'm right???

NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!  
NOT
THE
WIRE


I kind of just nodded along numbly agreeing to everything she was saying while my brain was on total overload.

I can't do this.
I can't let go of the underwire.
Doesn't she know they don't stay up by themselves?
Doesn't she realize wires are the air to my lungs?
Doesn't she realize that the bigger my boobs appear, the smaller my tummy appears?  (yes, it's all an optical illusion...smoke and mirrors!)
How am I going to do this?
Go back to sports bras?
They're so restrictive!!!
They make me look like a B cup!  A freaking B cup (yes, I'm a freakish D cup...don't be jealous...I'm pretty sure it's wrong, but  I'm going with it for a while)!!!
Wait...it's freaking cold out!
My nipples will be poking everyone's eyes out!!!
This is horrible!
What am I going to do to tame my nipples?
This just can't happen...this can't be happening.
I need the wire.
Uh, I'm sorry...what's that?  Yes, I'll see you in a couple of weeks!  Thanks!

WTF was I being all cheery about?  I have just sentenced myself to at least 3 weeks of no wires!!!  What is wrong with me??  Snap out of it!

As I cried my way back to my car, I thought about how much I love my bras.  I thought about how I lovingly chose just the right V.S. salesperson to help me decide on the perfect size bra and how I carefully chose the patterns that would work best with my wardrobe.  

Then my thoughts darkly turned toward my pathetic collection of sports bras...this is going to be a long few weeks.

Thanks for listening...see?  Not really a big deal in the grand scheme of life, but this is how my mind works.  Just think of all the stuff that stays in my mind if this is the kind of shit I actually release to the public.  My psyche is a very interesting place...trust me!

Life B.C.

The letters B.C. mean something different to me than they do to most people.

To me, they stand for Before Crazies.

Don't get me wrong...I love the Crazies with all of my heart, but here a little glimpse of life B.C.

B.C. most of my weekends were spent hanging out with friends, working on the house, or traveling.

B.C. my time was my own.  I could shop, sleep, and work out without having to think about naps, meals, or poop.

B.C. I slept in on the weekends.

B.C. I never rushed my showers (unless we had to be somewhere and then the stress was still not as great as a child waking up mid-shower causing my heart to seize in utter regret that I even thought I could clean myself).

B.C. I took care of my face (yes, I even got facials every now and then and they were complete Heaven).

B.C. I occasionally appeared rested.

B.C. I had a job that I loved.

B.C. I accessorized without wondering what items may contain lead.

B.C. I never worried whether my pocketbook/purse/I-don't-know-what-the-fuck-to-call-it-anymore was big enough to hold Wet Ones, snack, sippies, wipes, and diapers.

B.C. meals were never such a forethought.

B.C. the shelves in my living room held books, candles, pictures, glass items, and delicate shells that I loved a lot.

B.C. I longed for things that were nicer...monogrammed sheets, leather jackets, cashmere sweaters...without even knowing how silly all of that was.

B.C. I drove like a nut.

B.C. the music was always louder and I would emphasize the curse words as opposed to loudly singing over them.

B.C. I peed alone.

What did you do before your little psychos came along?  What do you miss most?