Wearing thong underwear makes as much sense as using a strip of scotch tape instead of a baggie to protect your sandwich.
Wearing thong underwear makes as much sense as using a strip of scotch tape instead of a baggie to protect your sandwich.
Memo for our NEXT beach holiday: Mummy can only save a maximum of 10 shells for you in her boyleg swimming bottoms, and no, they may not all make it back to the hotel.
Is it so wrong to get into my pajamas before my husband gets home from work giving him no indication that I've gotten dressed at all that day?
Pre-pregnancy jeans are like virginity. There's no going back.
I have been known to cut the labels off of the back of my jeans because the companies aren't paying me to advertise their clothes.
As a first-time parent, you will spend nearly half of your waking hours trying to figure out How To Make Things Okay with your child. Any number of things can cause your child to launch into a crying fit and it's your job to assess Why and What to do to resolve the issue as quickly as possible. The more frustrating the issue, such as uncontrollable out of the blue temper tantrums, the greater the joy when you resolve it. Perhaps you end a tantrum by playing Watch Daddy Dance With Underwear on His Head (not that I would ever do that). And maybe the Underwear Dance stops the tantrum cold and makes Everything Okay. Well, before you get too excited and start making a mental note of how to stop the tantrums with the Underwear Dance, you might want to think twice. What worked today, will not necessarily work tomorrow. In fact, I can almost guarantee you that it won't. Your child is just as likely to scream bloody murder the next time they see you don a pair of underwear on your head. (Not that I know from firsthand knowledge).
I want to know why they put pockets on infant clothing.
"Nicolaus...why are you naked?"
"Well you SAID I could change out of those regular clothes when we got home. This is my Indian costume."
"Okay but why are you naked?"
"I'm not. I'm wearing a shirt."
"Right but I can totally see your -"
"I'm also wearing my headband. See? That is so people will know I'm a real Indian and not just a boy with no pants."
Ya know what, Target guy, I know I look like a crazy person pushing a cart of screaming boys, wearing a black turtleneck sweater, red booty shorts with "HO HO HO" on the butt, and black boots with knee high Hello Kitty socks, but listen to me, look into my eyes, if you don't go in the back and tell me if you have toddler size 8 Lightning McQueen crocs to replace the ones the pug ate this morning, I will rip your beating heart from your chest rightfuckingnow go, go, GO!
There are those days when it is simply easier to go to the store and buy new socks rather than wash all the ones in the hamper.
I sent the child upstairs this morning to get dressed, with the instruction "Wear pants. You're going on a field trip." She came back down in a skirt with tights (and an undershirt OVER a long-sleeved shirt, but that's another tale). I said "I told you to wear pants." "But" said she, "tights are like pants with socks attached." Inarguable.
I'm having one of those days when my pants are the only thing holding up my underwear.
I discovered something today at a popular department store: I don't need a new bathing suit to make me look like I just had a baby. I can do that in a bathing suit I bought last summer. Aaaaany old suit will do.
I am too old to wear jeans with a brand name like Acne, and I'm too young to need Depends or face spackle. I would say I'm somewhere between bootcut Levi's and fine lines.
Control top pantyhose should be a girl's best friend, but they're really not. They make all types of hose, but a woman my age always goes for the control-top variety. Control top, put another way, means "cram all the fat in one neat little package so nothing wobbles around too much and hurts anybody." They should put that right on the box. I estimate I burned a hundred calories getting them on, so that's a plus. But once you're in them and the elastic band takes hold above the midsection, there is nowhere for an expanding, after-dinner stomach to go but straight out. Lovely.
Shopping for jeans is not for sissies. I spent one and a half hours yesterday trying on thirty pairs of jeans to find one that fit. Yes, thir-TEE! If jeans shopping were an Olympic event, I'd have won a gold medal.
I ran out to pick up a second bathing suit at lunch — at my only option, your friend and mine, TJ Maxx — and once again, my Darwinian failings reared their ugly head when I opted to try on some suits immediately after stuffing a cupcake in my gaping maw. Cupcake belly = not flattering, unless you’re planning on buying a Spandex muumuu, and even then, it had better be of the Miracle Suit variety, preferably with steel reinforcements.
Normally I would object to grown women wearing any sort of Disney character clothing because nothing says "I have the mentality of a preschooler" like wearing Winnie the Poo across your tits.
Do not wear to yoga: Baggy t-shirt. For a very simple reason; a large number of yoga poses involve a version of standing on your head. When you stand on your head in a baggy t-shirt, your shirt falls over your face, and your belly hangs down. Not exactly the perfect scenario for true yoga enlightenment, relaxation, and ease—let me assure you.
So I had to buy some new shorts for our upcoming vacation because the ones I had last year? Yeah, no. They're a definite no. go. I'm too damn fat for them this year. There was overspill muffin top and camel toe inducing tightness and society says that doesn't look nice and so I must obey. And last year's itsy bitsy teeny weeny bikini? Also not so much this year. It looks more like a tourniquet so I have to get a new one of those too so my ass doesn't turn blue from lack of circulation because nobody likes a blue assed girl. I think society should pay for the new shorts and the new bikini since they're the ones who are being such assholes about the whole thing.
I chalk just about every physical symptom up to anxiety. I'm thinking my gravestone will read: "She thought it was a panic attack."