“Have you decided what colour you’d like for your nails?” The esthetician points with her chin over to the selection of nail polishes on the counter as she massaged my calves. I pick up the nail wheels, vacillating between the reds and the pinks. Seduce Him (although that should really be Seduce Him/Her – I…
You know those days? The days when you think you look a certain way, but then, when you catch a glimpse of yourself in a mirror, you realize that you are overly optimistic? Yesterday morning was one of those days. Yesterday morning the armpit pudge was particularly pulchritudinous. The bastards. I was dressed, ready to…
Last winter, to ward off cold air chest pain, David purchased me my very own Cold Avenger / Darth Vader mask. Well, it’s winter once again, and though Ontario’s November was pretty damned temperate, December has been colder than a witch’s tit the last little while. Not generally a problem for most stalwart Canadians,…
WARNING: This post is about girly bits David was away all last week. So on Friday, I wanted to spiff up for his return. You know, wash and style the hair, shave the legs, groom the girly bits. I wanted to be all smooth and nice smelling – although frankly after a week of sleeping…
By my own ass, no less. It’s the 3-way mirror’s fault. Feeling great about myself – finding that cute perfect-for-me dress – that I actually have the money in hand to pay for – I sashay my ass into the change room. I cast off my clothes and as I’m turning around, I catch a…
This is the soundtrack for this post. I have always been fish belly white. Some smatterings of freckles on my face in the summer, but traditionally, my pale skin could be used as a signal point in the dark. Like you could line a bunch of me up on a runway and we’d be great…
WARNING: Adult language in this post I never used to be this hairy. I mean sure, I had the pubes, I had the pits – I shaved – below the knee – because my mother had warned me against above the knee shaving as if it could end civilization as we know it. Taking my…
When did I get to be so freaking hairy? I should be in one of those carny magazines with the caption Hirsute Heather as I wear some Victoria styled gown bustled to a steam-punk length and a fascinator to show off my spectacular facial hair. There is something about the quality of the sun in…
If I’m going to get screwed, I’d like to be in on it. I’m not generally a passive participant. I don’t just lie back and think of the Queen. If I’m getting well and truly screwed I want to enjoy it. I want to scream operatically with release when it gets really good. Naked in…
It appears that I can no longer sleep on my side. Because when I do? My face develops sleep craters. I get up, well-rested, thinking all is well with the universe, until I look in the mirror. My face, which had enjoyed the delicate sqwoosh of the pillow beneath my cheek, now has a…