And ready to go ...
We don't leave until Thursday at 3 a.m., but within those 4 days, I will be working 40 hours.
I may need to have a chats with 'you', my imaginary friend, in the evening hours of relaxation. There will be no morning coffee chats for this femme before we leave.
it will be frazzled around the edges Andréa.
As we were packing, my dear love realized that all the clothes from last year's vacation don't fit.
those damn cookies and ice cream with a lack of exercise will get'cha every time my dear ...
Poor Papi was suffering, trying to find the right fit of clothing that will be comfortable in the heat of the Dominican.
do i get my 'i told'ja so' now?
I suppose it's easier for me to keep the weight off considering the fact that I'm completely, 100% obsessed and OCD with my eating disorder.
I can feel 5 extra pounds, and they don't make me happy. I abolish them!
However, regardless of the pain of finding mi esposo's wardrobe shrinking over the past year, there was a much bigger problem.
Papi has no way of concealing those beautiful sacks of joy. Although, to give my love credit, Papi gets an 'A' for effort for trying.
Mi esposo has spent countless dollars buying fighting chance after chance of those 'somethings' out there that will cloak those mammaries.
Nothing has really worked so far.
It's been more like we've returned to the days of corsets, only the roles have been reversed.
Every binding effort comes with a doting wife pulling down that stiff nylon article. Skin is chaffed as it violently rubs and squashes those breasts into deformed pancakes.
I really can't see anyone being able to get those buggers on without help. They're brutal!!
Papi gave up on them.
All they really did was push all the breast fat toward the shoulders and it looked like fat was oozing out of the top of t-shirts, work shirts, even sweatshirts.
Well, the one we tried last night for swimming in, was truly horrid. It was more like a middle age torture version of today's Spanx that women wear to hide the areas that the gym workouts can't reach.
Papi looked truly defeated. I felt so deeply for my love and this binding failure.
Then what I was waiting for came out, "Will you be really uncomfortable if I go topless?"
I replied no, but I know it will be a different story when we get there.
I'll be cringing when the prudes and religious zealots go insane and say nasty things or leer with hatred. I'll also be getting my boxing gloves out when men think it's an invitation to get a woody.
I guess my last days with those breasts will be going out with a bang.
Maybe it will make it easier to say goodbye?
Or maybe I'm just never happy.
alas, the high maintenance femme ...