Before the world ends I am happy to say I am making great strides in:
1. Not getting stressed at the impending holidays.
2. Not getting depressed over the impending holidays.
3. Not getting pissed off over the impending holidays.
4. Maintaining my people-watching skills.
5. Trying to irk the FH which keeps me from being stressed, depressed, pissed off, and which amuses me to no end.
I am failing at:
1. Purchasing new bras.
Yeah, that might be it, because I am feeling pretty darn fab and wonderful. It is amazing what a jump from 50mg to 100mg can do during the holiday season. Or Easter. Or the 4th of July. Or September 17 at 2:38 pm. It’s all good.
So here’s my latest mish-mosh of days leading up to…now.
I was in Target the other day and saw an old lady- I LOVE old people. I will be one someday with all my cats and red scrunchie so I better learn to like them and observe their habits. She was wearing a white pleated skirt-of the 50′s poodle variety- a kicky white beret, and what seemed to be white go-go boots. She was so adorable I wanted to hug her in her crazy stylish whiteness- did I mention she had white hair too? But I refrained because we both needed to keep our dignity. And she might have poked me with her white cane.
So to offset the white from head to toe senior I spotted a girl who was wearing a tight black dress that didn’t have enough material to be used as a dinner napkin. And as my dear Babushka would say “it was halfway up her ass.” In fact, I gave her minute bee-hind only a cursory glance because I was afraid some lady parts might be waving hello. But the thing that I found most absurdly fascinating were her shoes- sleek black pumps with four inch splinters for heels. She walked amazingly well in them, but I couldn’t help but fantasize about the compound fractures I would have if I ever made an attempt to wear such unsensible footwear. I’ll just leave it to the skinny girls with their dresses halfway up their asses.
So my bottom half that includes my giant giant Ukrainian calves is balanced out by an ample set of girls up top. Bra shopping is overdue- the current members of my wardrobe are getting that tired, stretched-out weary look of overuse. JCo recommended I go to Soma because they have wonderful undergarments and aren’t as lurid as Victoria’s Secret.
I avoid going to brick and mortar retail establishments like Jenny McCarthy running from a vaccine.
So how weird was that line?
I felt the need to use it since her name has come up in three different conversations this week and I am SUPREMELY annoyed because there are other women I would much rather talk about- like my little white-shrouded old lady.
Anyhow, I could buy Soma bras online!!
Or not really.
Because every bra I liked said things (well the bra didn’t actually speak) like “only available in DD.” Now my girls have presence, but not DD presence. And EVERY other bra seemed to be a size like- excuse me while I laugh with derision-34B and 36C. Aw. How sweet!
I have cash. I have need. I still have no bras.
I think Soma stands for:
Sublimely objectified mammalian apparel
So obsequiously made for anorexics
Shitfire! Obvious mammary anguish!
I really don’t have anything against Soma. Their little silky bits and pieces look lovely, but but I was thwarted in my shopping endeavors. I may admit failure and go to that lurid Victoria’s Secret when I am in the West Virginia/Pennsylvania motherland for the holidays. Lurid isn’t so bad when there is no sales tax on clothing.