It doesn’t take much to confuse me these days. It seems I’m always working things out in my head that used to be second nature. I’m hoping it’s senior moments and nothing more serious but really, I’ve been fighting back a haze that seems to engulf me and looking in the fridge for missing things a lot. It seems to be the dumping ground for anything in my hand that I'm not focused on, from olive oil to toilet paper, no a fresh roll, not used stuff.
I seem to be distracted more as I get older. I guess I’ve reached a level of retaining too much knowledge....at least that's what I'm thinking, so it would be nice if I could purge the mundane and inconsequential stuff to make room for more of the important things to come. Maybe the bad first marriage, family disappointments and the like. Who wants to be one of those old farts (no disrespect to the elderly) who live in the past and remember yesteryear more than yesterday.
So yesterday morning, in all its muggy, breath stealing heat, I was panting and watching the pups work through their morning eliminations when I notice the garbage truck two doors down. Strange I thought, in our town, waste removal is always on a Wednesday, so why was it a day early? The July 1st holiday threw me off and quite frankly couldn't tell you what day it was without some heavy thinking.
This isn’t the time of year to let garbage pile up inviting a waft that only a maggot would appreciate, so I did a quick calculation to see if I would have enough time grab the bag and hoof it to the road before the truck pulled up out front. The worry was that I would be seen, with no time to fix my sleep hair, falling out all over the place and an oily, make-upless Halloween ready face and T-shirt with no bra. A sight not to be seen with sore eyes or otherwise!
I estimated I had enough time and clicked into action. I ran like my life depended on it, well at least my pride. And that pride thing that goeth before the fall stuff, which I prayed wouldn’t become a literal translation with my sloppy slippers, skimming over grass soaked by morning due, as slippery as a greased wheel. Going thingamajugs up on the lawn in front of two young fellers would give them a tale to tell and worse, in this age of cell phones, something to capture and post on FB for all the world to enjoy, a new worry in this day and age of social media.
So I ran like the wind and made it to the edge of our grass as the truck left the neighbour’s front yard and bore down on mine. There were two guys this time, usually only one is doing double duty, driving and picking up, but there was buddy #2 hanging off the side ready to jump off. He sported the perfect vantage point to watch me. I had run out of time, the truck and I would collide any second if I continued to advance, so I just threw the bag the last ten feet, turned on a dime and beat a hasty retreat.
As I was a legging it back up the lawn at a heart pounding rate, I was suddenly aware of the movement under my shirt. My untethered breasts were flopping up and down, north to south and then east and west, round and round, like a broken compass. It was amazing I hadn’t knocked myself out as they rose high and then snapped back down like a stubby, fat and well-rounded whip. I know the guy had to see it, all that action under my shirt had to attract attention, I’m not exactly small there, probably the size of chubby little ground hogs tossing about. I raised my hands to cup each mound to stop the dance, which probably looked worse. So now my hands, not big enough to do a full containment, are bouncing up and down as the hunks of flesh beneath the shirt continued to react to the motion. It’s not easy to run without arms outstretched for balance and they were pinned close to my waist to support my hands. I didn't dare look back to hide the look of horror on my face, or maybe I didn’t want to see the horror on theirs. I ran the rest of the way to the house and slammed the door behind me, finally able to breathe. It's obvious, there's no safe place to be natural, not even in my own backyard. This is the second time in just a matter of days I've been painfully reminded that I don't fall out of bed day ready.
I seem to be distracted more as I get older. I guess I’ve reached a level of retaining too much knowledge....at least that's what I'm thinking, so it would be nice if I could purge the mundane and inconsequential stuff to make room for more of the important things to come. Maybe the bad first marriage, family disappointments and the like. Who wants to be one of those old farts (no disrespect to the elderly) who live in the past and remember yesteryear more than yesterday.
So yesterday morning, in all its muggy, breath stealing heat, I was panting and watching the pups work through their morning eliminations when I notice the garbage truck two doors down. Strange I thought, in our town, waste removal is always on a Wednesday, so why was it a day early? The July 1st holiday threw me off and quite frankly couldn't tell you what day it was without some heavy thinking.
This isn’t the time of year to let garbage pile up inviting a waft that only a maggot would appreciate, so I did a quick calculation to see if I would have enough time grab the bag and hoof it to the road before the truck pulled up out front. The worry was that I would be seen, with no time to fix my sleep hair, falling out all over the place and an oily, make-upless Halloween ready face and T-shirt with no bra. A sight not to be seen with sore eyes or otherwise!
I estimated I had enough time and clicked into action. I ran like my life depended on it, well at least my pride. And that pride thing that goeth before the fall stuff, which I prayed wouldn’t become a literal translation with my sloppy slippers, skimming over grass soaked by morning due, as slippery as a greased wheel. Going thingamajugs up on the lawn in front of two young fellers would give them a tale to tell and worse, in this age of cell phones, something to capture and post on FB for all the world to enjoy, a new worry in this day and age of social media.
So I ran like the wind and made it to the edge of our grass as the truck left the neighbour’s front yard and bore down on mine. There were two guys this time, usually only one is doing double duty, driving and picking up, but there was buddy #2 hanging off the side ready to jump off. He sported the perfect vantage point to watch me. I had run out of time, the truck and I would collide any second if I continued to advance, so I just threw the bag the last ten feet, turned on a dime and beat a hasty retreat.
As I was a legging it back up the lawn at a heart pounding rate, I was suddenly aware of the movement under my shirt. My untethered breasts were flopping up and down, north to south and then east and west, round and round, like a broken compass. It was amazing I hadn’t knocked myself out as they rose high and then snapped back down like a stubby, fat and well-rounded whip. I know the guy had to see it, all that action under my shirt had to attract attention, I’m not exactly small there, probably the size of chubby little ground hogs tossing about. I raised my hands to cup each mound to stop the dance, which probably looked worse. So now my hands, not big enough to do a full containment, are bouncing up and down as the hunks of flesh beneath the shirt continued to react to the motion. It’s not easy to run without arms outstretched for balance and they were pinned close to my waist to support my hands. I didn't dare look back to hide the look of horror on my face, or maybe I didn’t want to see the horror on theirs. I ran the rest of the way to the house and slammed the door behind me, finally able to breathe. It's obvious, there's no safe place to be natural, not even in my own backyard. This is the second time in just a matter of days I've been painfully reminded that I don't fall out of bed day ready.
 While on the topic of chesty things, here's a related picture. Shane is 6' 4" and is always hitting his head on the hanging mermaid. Just a bit of fun in the shop on a hot sticky day! |  The finished M! |
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