Judge Me By My Size, Do You?

Humbled, am I. (Also? Apparently channeling Yoda.)

You all are so great…and sweet…and…um…can we just have a group hug?

*SQUEEZE*

Now I’m even more warm and fuzzy than I already was. If that’s even possible.

I wasn’t threatening to quit, or even asking for comments. Really. I just had a lot on my mind and just kind of let it all pour out. I honestly thought that was going to be one of those posts with very few comments. I always seem to get it backwards; posts I think will garner many comments don’t and vice versa. It was just a bonus for me that I was totally wrong on that one.

Basically, I’m just wrestling with the desire to post my inner-most thoughts here on the Internet…and the desire to not post my inner-most thoughts here on the Internet. I want to be honest, and real, and have connection…but I also have to deal with boundaries in writing what complete strangers will read. The novice writer in me gets stuck when there’s something on my mind and it’s something I don’t think needs to be thrown out into Cybah-space. It is a daily struggle, and that struggle came out in the preceding post.

I would have addressed all your lovey-dovey-ness (not a word, I know) sooner (again – thanks!), except I’ve been delving a little more into the Real World.

Last night, instead of the both of us working/house maintaining/surfing, Matthew and I actually sat on the couch and watched T.V. Together. We have way too many shows on our DVR from the last month to get caught up on. Lately we’ve been going our separate ways once the kids are in bed in order to get more stuff done. It was nice to cuddle together on the couch instead. Very nice.

Then today, my Honey sent me off to do some shopping. Alone. He needed a part for our lawnmower, and didn’t see the need to drive an hour to just pick up a belt. He knows that I need a bathing suit (Last year’s suit? Maternity. No good.) so he suggested I go and see what I could find.

Bathing suit shopping is generally at the bottom of my favourite things to do list. It ranks right down there with jean shopping, touching raw meat and wiping poop off of Nathan’s sphincter. I may be a thin person, but I have no muscle tone whatsoever. I’m surprised that my muscles haven’t atrophied from their lack of use.

Despite the plethora of sun we had last week, my skin is still a pasty shade of white. Almost translucent, even. I’m busy working, remember? No time to fry my skin cells. So I have a nice white (Ethereal? Nope. I wish.) glow to my skin.

I hit two stores that specialize in bathing suits, and promptly realized why I hate bathing suit shopping, apart from my above-mentioned flaws. The selection? Limited. And kind of ugly, really. Then there are the florescent lights…

Those suits that weren’t an ugly pattern were either string bikinis (Not going to happen. Ever.) or halter tops. I can’t do halter tops. I don’t have the bust to do them justice, and I hate the knot at the back of my neck. I walked away without a suit to show for the valiant effort I made standing in front of a mirror under florescent lights with jiggly thighs, albino-white skin and a saggy, droopy, small chest. Sigh.

(The title of this post is because that’s what popped into my head while dealing with the girl helping me pick out suits.)

I didn’t walk out of the mall empty-handed, though! I bought a few tank tops and two pairs of shorts (in a single-digit size!). They were also needed, as last year’s summer clothes? Also maternity. I’ve been wearing a pair maternity shorts around the house with the draw string all cinched up. Hot. Now I can stop being such a frump and look cute for Honey.

We had those enchiladas for dinner that my friend made for us. Dee-lish! I’m going to get me the recipe. We browsed through the Lands End swimsuit catalogue and I think I’m going to order one as soon as I hurry up and finish this never-ending post. Online shopping – no florescent lights to be seen!

Thanks again for all of your love. I haven’t taken any pictures in the last couple of days, so I’ll leave you with this one. Big kisses from me to you.

Unless you’re a guy who isn’t my Dad. Then you get a high-five.