Multi-Breasted Female of Galaxy NGC 1512

Previous post from Wednesday, July 18, 2012

Praise be to every deity in the universe!!!  After a week of insomnia – I slept through the night!!  Halle-freakin-lulljah!! (insert angels’ chorus here)  

There’s been a heat/humidity wave in Southern Ontario.  A direct result
of this is my morphing into the biggest belligerent bitchy bitch in
several galaxies.  (I think there’s a multi-breasted female in Galaxy
NGC 1512 that could give me a run for my money, but really with 22
breasts and a fashion history in her neck of the woods that hasn’t
allowed for brassieres, you could fully understand her bitchiness.)

Home to the Papilla-Multi-Praeclarus People – a shout out to Big Bessie! (From HubbleSite)

My period is due any day as well.  And not to become a cliched ‘female’ type who blames moods on her hormonal cycle, but WHAT THE POOH DUDE?!?  It’s like I’m losing my mind a little bit more every day.  And I KNOW that I am, and I’m freaking helpless to stop the journey into The Hell of Irrationality.

Yesterday, I burst into tears when David asked me to go down to the
beach.  I knew that I should get out of our stifling house, but also
knew that I would then have to attempt to thrust my clammy sweaty body
into a bathing suit.   (sidebar – I’m NOT a beach person to begin with. 
I burn very easily, even with sunblock 9000 on, and I don’t like
getting wet.)

Sniffing back tears, I went upstairs and started the process.  I
stripped off my now-sodden cotton clothing and then forced my sticky
flesh into my one-piece bathing suit.  In retrospect, I could have put
on my impetuously purchased pin-up girl bikini, (Rissa said “Mummy it
looks GREAT!) but my mind was WAY skewed to self-loathing at this point,
and no way was my fish-belly white stomach going to be put on view for
Victoria Beach.  Instead, I opted for the one piece with attending
melon-coloured overskirt.  Imagine if you will – a sausage casing trying
to accommodate way too many fleshy bits.  Still in too precarious an
emotional state, crying behind my half closed door, I could not see the
humour in the situation.  NOW – this morning I do, but last evening at
4:42 p.m. NOTHING WAS FUNNY.

Determined not to give in to the hormones, I waded into Lake Ontario.  I
was going to be the well-adjusted wife and mother.  I was going to
participate in a family activity.  It was cold.  Not just a little bit
cold – but the kind of cold where men’s testicles crawl back up into
their body cavities – or so David told me.  My legs ached from the
temperature.  But I persevered.  I was in the water and I was wet and I
was almost enjoying myself.  After about 30 seconds in the water, David
looked over at me.  “Your lips are blue.”  “Probably,” I answered.  It
was invigorating though.  The surf was all wavy which is a lot
fun – even in hypothermic water temperatures.  After about 3.5 minutes
David made me leave the water.  I was okay to stay and be wet even, but I
guess my colour looked a little off and I was all goose-pimply and
shivery and I didn’t have the presence of mind to lie when he asked “Are
you having chest pain?”  “Just a, uh, little bit.”  If I were more
petite, he would have scooped me up into his arms in a romantic gesture
and carried me to the beach.  As it was, he threw an arm around my waist
and dragged me out, wrapped me in a towel and told me to stay put while
he went back in to make sure that Rissa and her friend didn’t drown in
the waves.

There I was on the beach – in 30+ degree heat and sun, clutching my
white terry towel around me, teeth chattering.  He had been right.  It
was good to get out of the house.  I was no longer hot.   My mood was
vastly improved.  A brush with death will do that for a girl.