This is one of those times where I keep clicking over here in the hopes that some words have magically appeared on the page. But, alas, the cursor and all the white space continue to mock me. For some reason my tried and true writing method of checking Twitter six times, playing five rounds of Pathwords, and searching the internet for anything that happens to pop in my head isn’t working for me.
But you may be interested to know that in the last several hours I’ve learned that Texas Governor, Rick Perry, shot a coyote while on a morning jog. I’ve also fallen in love with this surfside kurta from Athleta and become completely conflicted about which pair of Havaiana flip-flops I’d like to own.
Seriously. How am I supposed to choose? It’s ridiculous.
I’ve discovered that Sandra Bullock has adopted a baby boy from New Orleans, Siobhan got voted off American Idol, and read several different television recap blogs because I can’t remember if anyone ever found the body of that parole officer that Dana Walsh stuffed in the vent at CTU and I’m worried sick about it.
In other words, I have wasted two hours of my life.
But, frankly, I kind of needed the down time. Caroline and I both woke up yesterday morning with what can only be described as a Sea World hangover. Her eyes were slightly red and glazed over and mine were so swollen that I couldn’t even curl my eyelashes to try to make them look better. Of course maybe it was the resurgence of pollen rather than the Sea World trip that got us, but I’m tired of talking about allergies and would rather blame Shamu.
I got her off to school and then I came home to get ready for Bible study while I self-medicated with copious amounts of caffeine. My eyes and I finally made it to the church even though we were fifteen minutes late. It was our last meeting of the season and we ended with a lovely brunch and an egg casserole made with fontina cheese that changed the way I will view egg casseroles forevermore. Delicious.
After I left, I ran by Target to pick up a few things and then stopped by the mall in search of a few cute t-shirts to wear this summer. I found nothing. Well, nothing except a large Diet Coke and an M&M chocolate chip cookie at the Great American Cookie Company.
Then, for reasons I will never understand, I decided I should try on a few swimsuits. After eating an egg casserole made with fontina cheese and an M&M chocolate chip cookie. And experiencing some PMS. Nothing like mixing up a little cocktail of insecurity and hormones.
I pulled several different options off the rack (no pun intended) and headed to the dressing room to let the horror and sadness commence. The first one I tried on almost made me swear off swimwear forever. Picture a swimsuit that makes everything look better and accentuates your best features and then picture the opposite of that. I sobbed quietly in the dressing room and vowed to recommit myself to the 30-Day Shred starting this Monday.
Or the next Monday.
But I made myself try on the rest of them because I have to have a new swimsuit for the summer. We go to the pool almost every day. It’s not an option. And I didn’t buy a new suit last summer so I really need one this year.
(Actually I just remembered that I did buy a new suit last year but ended up having severe buyer’s remorse and hardly wore it all. So it doesn’t count.)
(P, if you’re wondering, it only cost $15.00. It’s all good.)
Finally I put on one that didn’t make me want to hurl. It was a lovely shade of turquoise (unlike my kitchen), had a top that was flattering and supportive, and offered two different options for the bottoms. Therein lay my dilemma. One was more of a traditional bottom with a ruffle and the other was more like a fitted swim skirt with ruching. I was a little concerned that either one of them might make me look like Vienna from The Bachelor, not to be confused with Vienna from the sausage. Although that was also a possibility.
But I had to make a decision because they only had one pair of bottoms left in my size. So I did the only thing that could be done in such a desperate time and called Gulley to see if I could text photos of myself in each swimsuit option and get her honest opinion. It wasn’t as good as having her there in person, but it would have to do.
I cannot even express how many times I checked and double-checked to make sure she was the only person I was texting those pictures to. Can you even imagine the horror of inadvertently sending a photo of yourself in a swimsuit to the wrong person? I have no idea how many various friends and acquaintances’ numbers I have stored in my cell phone, but I can say with all certainty that 99.9% of them don’t need to receive a picture of me in a florescent lit dressing room wearing a swimsuit.
Gulley helped me decide on the more traditional bottom. In the end, we felt like it was the right choice.
No pun intended.