I'll probably be blogging a lot more -

Since he is back in school.
Yes he,
The Beloved - is back in school. Apparently he's addicted.

And truly it is great - he's getting his MFA which hopefully coupled with his MBA will bring in the dream job of the century.

But until then (since The Beloved is either at work or doing homework), I will whine to you - or maybe just tell you things you really don't want to hear about. Especially you, Elder Patton - I'll try to warn you in advance. This may be one of those posts where you want to stop reading... soon.

Let's make a deal - whenever you see this sign %%%%% that means stop - but when you scroll down and see it again that's where you can return to reading. Sound good?

So the sadness but greatness of my life:

%%%%% :)

I matured this week -

okay, that just sounded weird-

I mean,

I made an incredibly mature/realistic decision and I am here to report about it.

I have officially joined the Kelly Ripa bra size club-

 and if she's proud than I guess I can be too.

Obviously after 3 kids a body is bound to change, but there's something about seeing the actual size on the bra tag that makes you finally comprehend that your chest really is as small and depleted as the image you've been seeing in the mirror every morning.

But you realizing it and then having to purchase the bra - and then wondering about the possibility of the cashier seeing the bra size as well... oh for the love! I compare it to buying contraceptives while shopping with a cart full of children. Oh my goodness.... the cashier is going to know that I'm... ya know...

hello -

LIKE IT ISN'T ALREADY OBVIOUS!! -

and it's the same thing with a bra.

I have been in self denial for a long time.

I still have hard feelings against a woman named Waffa who worked at Dillards and measured me before The Beloved and I were wed.

She told me I was a 34 Kelly Ripa size and I walked straight out of the store.

How dare she! The nerve!

I then strolled into Victoria Secret where I was measured once again.

End result: I hugged the employee and told her she was invited to my wedding when she declared I was a 32 B (which is the equivalent of a 34 Kelly Ripa size :)) -

but gosh going up one letter in the alphabet sure made me feel a whole lot better. 

But today I did it - I walked in - head held high -

And purchased the correct bra size.

And how do I feel?

 Absolutely Horrible -

and I still hate Waffa.

Okay - for the benefit of my mother:

I am really not overly consumed with my chest. I realize I am "so much more" than my bra size and I am sorry for the crude analogy.

Also, I don't really hate Waffa. I just feel really bad for her because her parents named her Waffa.

Oh my goodness, I am being horrible.

But, you have to admit - you laughed a little bit a couple of sentences ago.

%%%%%

Oh gracious, I am grounded. :)
I'll go wash my mouth out with soap.