David and Rissa say that I am not allowed to take up DIY cosmetic surgery. No matter how much I want to. I’d just like to say though, that if my armpits were made up of fabric instead of migrating breast tissue stores, I could put a dart in that shit. I am very handy…
Remember your first bra? That verging on A cup, training bra? This clothing item had two purposes: to mask breast buds and to serve as a horizontal bulls-eye for the boys in grade 5 who seemed to make it their life’s work to SNAP the back of that sucker as soon as they glimpsed it underneath…
I finally take the leap. After years of sewing and resewing, I toss my decade-old leggings with their worn, next-to-nonexistent inner thigh seams into the garbage. And just to be sure that I won’t fish them out again when that bout of clothing nostalgia hits, I cover them in more garbage. Which means that I…
“Do you qualify for our discount today?” “What discount?” I asked. Even though, from the moment the word ‘discount’ left her lips, in the back of my head, I knew what she was going to say. But in that 1/4 of a second it took her to reply, I found myself silently begging… Please don’t say…
“You look like you’re having deep, introspective thoughts,” says David. We sit with Rissa, waiting for her first university tour. “Hmmmm…?” I am, indeed, lost in thought – imagining a future where my daughter is not a daily presence. “You’re looking very deep,” David continues. I snort. “What?” “All I can think now is that…
“Do you think we can take tasteful pictures of my breasts?” David perks up. “Most certainly.” “For public consumption?” “Pardon?” “You know, for my blog…” “Ummmmm…” His mouth opens and closes. “Don’t get me wrong. I am ALL for your breasts being on display. But… why do you want to have tasteful breast pictures on…
I do a double-take as I open my elbow. Since when does the skin there look like a plucked chicken? Like a really old, plucked chicken? Freaking ANCIENT. “Whoa! What the….? EEEEEEEEEEEW!“ “What are you doing?” asks Rissa. “Look at this skin!” “What about it?” “My inside elbow looks 90!” “No it does not.” “Sure…
WARNING: This post doesn’t pull any punches. I need a table set up in my home, under the most natural light possible, where a team of aestheticians clad in neuroscientist’s glasses can groom me every morning. This finding hair on my face, chin, neck, legs – breasts – at inopportune moments has got to stop….
Me – this morning. It is before breakfast. It is before work. I am on the treadmill – watching Daredevil on Netflix. Moving at 3.5 miles an hour on an incline of three. ‘Cause if I don’t do it before I go to work, it will not happen for the rest of day. And if…
I picked up as many pairs as I could carry in my arms to the cash. Nordic socks from Old Navy. Colourful, Skandihoovian… perfect… until you try to put them on your feet. (movie trailer announcer voice) In a world where quirky fashion puts its foot forward, Heather thought she’d hit pay dirt. Will her…