I’m crabby. For multiple reasons.
I still have pole burn.
My fingers are cramping from tying four hundred and seventy two tiny black bows on wedding programs and menus.
Worst. Period. Ever.
I figured out I can’t fit my entire fist in my mouth. I can only make it just past the knuckles.
Speaking of things fitting in mouths – after finding today’s Craftastrophe, I have a hard time not picturing Mildred with a bottle neck coming out of her face. It’s rather upsetting.
I only have six days to transform my body into a replica of Charlize Theron’s bod for a whole mess of wedding photos…without going to the gym or sacrificing brownies and cocktails, of course.
The cups of my fancy bra are thoroughly soaked with boob sweat – but not from working out. Obviously (see previous paragraph). Do cats sweat? How could you even tell under all that fur. Lucy is laying in the bathtub and Mildred is doing her best Playgirl impression sprawled out on the hardwood floor but neither looks moist. Maybe I should turn on the air conditioning, just in case.
…and now I’m cold.
It’s Monday. It’s overcast and thick with rain-to-be.
The Kardashians are on the cover of my Us Weekly. Again.
Then my friend Pete posted this video and I remembered I scored two free Spanx torture devices at BlogHer so all is right with the world again. It’s old (the video, not the girdle). Odds are you’ve already seen it (again, I meant the video – though I have been known to flash supportive undergarments in the right situation), but sometimes it’s worth pausing to celebrate Eddie Izzard, Lego, and Darth Vader all in one fell swoop.
Just let me grab another cupcake and I’ll be happy to watch it with you.