Fresh Threads!

So, I was not diligent today about packing a lunch, or bringing a Lean Cuisine.  These things happen.  I went, instead, down the street to a fast food restaurant my colleagues refer to as Hate Chicken.  I leave my politics and religion out of it.  I wanted a diet lemonade and a grilled chicken sandwich, and that’s what I got.  Now, what kills me about Hate Chicken Chick-fil-A, is that the one near our office is always packed.  People will sit in their cars in the drive thru line for 30 minutes.  Me? I’ll park, get out, go in, order and get back out to the car in five minutes.  If it’s cold, or raining, or you have a broken leg, or a hole in your pants – fine – drive thru.  But it’s February, and 79 degrees out.  Get out of your car, morons!

Anyway.  I got my sandwich and still had time to swing into Nordstrom Rack.  I find something about every 5^th visit.  So it’s unpredictable, but never dull.  I was looking specifically for shirts.  Well, I’m starting to realize that I am not their core market.  At all.  Not even close.

I found one shirt that I kind of liked.  And then, this:

I call this: Disco Hooker Princess

I do not have a life (or body) that supports a shirt like this as a purchase.  I don’t go out often, and then, it’s to hockey, or a sedate dinner, or maybe Tribe, where I have nothing to prove.    I’m not saying I couldn’t fill out that sequined crevasse with some serious geography of my own, I’m just saying that no explorers are interested.  But it was kind of fun.  For grins, I checked out formal dresses for women of size.  Lots of Margaret Dumont mother of the bride gear.  Pass.  For whatever reason, I have Prom on the brain.  Probably because I was surrounded by teenagers at the mall on Sunday desperately seeking *the dress*.    I loved mine, but the dresses of the early 90s were a lot different than what’s in style today.  Obviously, and thankfully.

Can you tell from my body language the one I was really into*?  Also, didn't I have cute dates???

I was leaving Nordstrom (Rack), and I happened to take a quick gander of the lingerie section – they had some Wacoal bras on sale.  I found my size.  In magenta.  Now, nobody needs a magenta bra, but they were less than half of the normal price, and so, clearly, I grabbed it.

As I was standing in line, I started thinking about the aforementioned pink sequin top.  It’s what you might call a boob shirt.  Although, in my day, it wasn’t skin showing that made it that – it was the fact that it was tight.  In college, that’s what we called them.  I wondered  if anyone still uses the expression.  Per my research on UrbanDictionary.com, yeah, they're still out there.

By the way, remember how a few paragraphs back, I mentioned that it's 79 out today?  Well, last night, I had the beasto outside, and I got the heck bitten out of me by a mosquito.  In February.  We're screwed.

It's also been hot enough that sleeping at night is uncomfortable, and I wake up hot, disoriented and sweating.  Last night, I had a dream that Lola was wandering around my parents' backyard.  She was dying.  Once she expired, carnivorous toads appeared to eat her.  It was rough.  I've actually been dreaming about the old girl a lot recently, and I don't know why.

Tonight, I'm taking a sleeping pill.  By which I mean NyQuil or something. Benadryl, probably.  I don't know.  I need fun dreams.  Visions of sugarplums.  Or, low-fat, no sugar added plums.

Maybe I need to buy a sequin boob shirt and find somewhere to wear it.

Or maybe, I just need to turn on the ceiling fan and keep cool.

Be young and foolish,

ae


*It was the guy in the photo on the right.  Long story, but we ended up dating for a year.  That night started it all.    Sigh.  Summer dreams, ripped at the seams.