I think I'll do it in stages. There were some really good things and then...some REALLY bizarre things. This is one of those.
A long time ago, I ran 10K's. I spent a couple of hours, five days a week, in the gym. I had one very self-sufficient child and very few worries and...it was fun. I have somewhere here pictures from when I was The Body for the local racquet/health club print ads. I had $6000 tits with a definite lofty leaning. I wore lots of short skirts and skimpy tops and...it really WAS fun.
Fast forward to today. I am fifty-one years old. That is OVER half a century. I had two kids after forty and in case I haven't mentioned it before, that is NOT a good idea. Your body doesn't think it's a good idea, your mind doesn't think it's a good idea and as you face the prospect of putting a child through college while you are in your SIXTIES, your financial planner doesn't think it's a good idea. Social security don't pay for that shit...I checked.
I don't exercise. I drink too much. I eat whatever I please, whenever I please and five years in Texas pretty much ruined me insofar as Mexican food goes...I'll eat anything that's even been sitting next to corn masa or salsa. My fettucine? One stick of real butter. Two cups of heavy cream. One cup of real Romano, plus a block with a vegetable peeler to scrape extra onto the plates at the table. Crusty white bread that hasn't seen it's fibrous coating in six months, and Plugra butter. Salted. One bottle of red wine with dinner and then two hefty bourbons after, to just make the glow OOZE. (Or the ooze GLOW. Take your pick.)
My mother-in-law lost touch with reality, as Christmas is concerned, about five years ago. It takes my children over an hour just to open their gifts. She buys things she has no idea she's bought and when the day comes...my 12-year-old opened 37 wrapped gifts, just from her grandparents. The story gets worse, but that's another post.
I wear spaghetti-strap chemises to sleep in. Every year, MIL gives me a lovely chemise set...a slinky gold or cream or earth-toned robe and gown set. I love them. I look forward to that package over all things. It is my only connection to when...I looked good in them.
This year I was sitting in the floor opening my presents and I got to the lingerie box. I LOVE the lingerie box. I opened it and...it was filled with diaphanous pink and blue stuff. Like, PINK. And BABY blue. And if you know me...I don't do cute. I don't do sweet...hell, I don't even do NICE. And that shit was pink and blue.
Okay. I just won't wear it as a regular but then I picked it up and...I could see the couch. THROUGH the gown. THROUGH the totally sheer, totally see-through, totally FM gown. That was still pink and blue. And I KNOW, right off the bat, that the couch is gonna look a whole lot better through that pink and blue sheer extravaganza than THIS lazy ass ever will. At this point I realized my SIL and my aunt-in-law were laughing. I don't know if it was my face or that they knew what was in there but I...couldn't think of anything to say. (Warning: DO NOT attempt to picture this gown in use. That's like...spontaneous comgrosstibleness.)
People, remember the age part. And the kid/birthing part. And the no-maintenance part. I have body parts that no one but the man who helped get me into this shape will EVER see again and I am standing my old, flabby ass there holding a sheer, pink and blue, babydoll nighty. For shame, for shame. Someone get me a bolt of FELT to cover this ruin. SHEER? What? You wanna stand in front and check out the boobs that have gone from champagne glass lovely to oversized water glass disaster? Or stand behind me while my ass migrates down the back of my thighs? Or, hey, just take the SIDE view where EVERYTHING sags!
THE FUCKER WAS SHEER.
I pushed it back into the box and put it in my 27-year-old daughter's pile. Have at it honey. I think I need a bean burrito to help with the shock.