1/4 c rolled oats, 1/4 c oat bran, 1 c 2% milk, a splash of vanilla and ridiculous amounts of blueberries...
...combined with 1 oz cheese, coffee my love, morning paper, morning sunshine and a very happy morning cat.Hopped out of bed at 615, bummed around until 7, went for a 1.5 mi run amid bindweed, pine, heavy shimmering golden air (ah, humidity) and the inevitable torrent of birdsong. I saw two birds I didn't recognise: one that I thought might be a purple finch but which was a bit larger than described and also much more vivid - imagine a cross between eggplant and fuchsia on the head and shoulders, dark brown to black on the lower body and tail. The other had a wren-like silhouette, but was again much larger, and lighter in color.
Anyways, boobs. Is this a normal occurrence? During about the week and a half before Lady Red shows up, good ol' Ralphie and Louie (yes I made that up) go all Hulk on me and turn into their alter egos, Shock and Awe (no I did not make that up). They grow literally 2.5 to 3 sizes: from a largeish C to an easy E. Not even joking. It's insane. It's like every month or so, they get this urge to relive their glory days when I was at my biggest and most bodacious, whether the rest of my body wants to go along with them or not. Even my most serious ironclad tactical sports bra, which I picked specifically because it had been raved about as being perfect for those ladies with an extra helping of blessings, does close to nothing. I end up running for stretches just clutching my chest to keep them subdued, giving heart attacks to the nice old men doing their morning constitutionals and getting Glares of Slow and Painful Death from their wives.
Questions for the lurkers: Do other girls have this problem? Are there any bras that actually help with this level of craziness? Is there a point at which the knife is worth it? Got any boob stories of your own to share?
-N
Anyways, boobs. Is this a normal occurrence? During about the week and a half before Lady Red shows up, good ol' Ralphie and Louie (yes I made that up) go all Hulk on me and turn into their alter egos, Shock and Awe (no I did not make that up). They grow literally 2.5 to 3 sizes: from a largeish C to an easy E. Not even joking. It's insane. It's like every month or so, they get this urge to relive their glory days when I was at my biggest and most bodacious, whether the rest of my body wants to go along with them or not. Even my most serious ironclad tactical sports bra, which I picked specifically because it had been raved about as being perfect for those ladies with an extra helping of blessings, does close to nothing. I end up running for stretches just clutching my chest to keep them subdued, giving heart attacks to the nice old men doing their morning constitutionals and getting Glares of Slow and Painful Death from their wives.
Questions for the lurkers: Do other girls have this problem? Are there any bras that actually help with this level of craziness? Is there a point at which the knife is worth it? Got any boob stories of your own to share?
-N
Love the combo of oats, kitty, and newspaper - perfect morning breakfast! No boob stories - mine are, uh, not a big part of my life, that's for sure!
ReplyDeleteSarah: LOL! Consider yourself lucky! And yes, happy cats make everything better, especially first thing in the morning.
ReplyDelete