Unmentionables and Other Things Not Worth Mentioning

Oh, hello there. How long have I been out? I must have slipped into some sort of sugar induced coma for awhile. Thanks for waking me.

Holy crap. Today was one of those days. Not anything out of the ordinary, but my internal stress level has shot up in the past few days and I have grown horns on the top of my head. Everything seems much more intense than it does normally. (Yes, you're correct. This means I'm bitchy.)

It started out fairly good. I woke up from my Flexeril induced sleep (I use the term"woke up" lightly here. It was more like rising from the dead.) feeling a little stiff, but overall, better than the past couple of days. After walking around the house for a bit I could tell that my shoulder was indeed feeling better. *sigh*

I decided to hit the mall to find a strapless bra because I'm not going to be able to wear a strap on my shoulder for awhile. Oh, and I also needed to find a green shirt so I can mingle among the Irish on Tuesday.

So, The Duchess and I headed out to get lunch and then hit the mall. When we're on a day out, she plops her headphones on and watches the d.v.d player in the back seat while I crank up the Sirius satellite and listen to Howard Stern. (Yes...I always make sure she has her headphones on before I tune in. Geesh.) Unbeknownst to me today, The Duchess had delved into her hidden stash of potato chips and had plowed through and entire bag by the time we hit the parking lot at Arby's. I must have had the radio up loud enough not to have heard the hamster-like crunching coming from the back seat.

Anyway, now she wouldn't eat a healthy meal at Arby's (Hey, don't judge me) because she'd stuffed herself with potato chips. So, I hurriedly inhaled a sandwich and we made our way to the mall.

I HATE bra shopping. I hate it even more when I can't put on the damn bras by myself. Due to the nature of my wound, I can't contort myself into the pretzel-like position required to fasten and spin and hoist a bra into position.

That's where Maryanne comes in. Poor Maryanne. In a valiant effort to earn her commission, she put on a brave face and proceeded to push and pull and heave my bosoms into six bras until BINGO!

Maryanne most likely has grandchildren my age. She should be enjoying a carefree retirement. Instead, she spent her day groping me. I think we're dating now.

By the time Maryanne and I had come to know each other intimately, The Duchess was bored with a capital B. She was tired of rummaging through my purse and trying on every lip gloss I owned. I'd promised her that we could spend some time at the cutesy rubbery outdoor playground in the courtyard of the mall. So now of course, she was a duchess possessed. I told her that I wanted to try on a few shirts and then we would go to the playground. The Duchess had other ideas.

I'd made the mistake of not wearing my newly purchased bra out of the store. When I'd picked a few shirts to try on and locked myself into the dressing room, I realized that I would need my bra on in order to tell what the shirts really looked like. I began the ritualistic contortions of putting on the bra when my shoulder said, "Oh, HELL no, Girlfriend!" That was the beginning of the end of my shoulder cooperating with me in any way.

Being the brave shopper that I am, I continued to try the shirts on that I'd selected. Every time I'd finally manage to get one on, I'd ask the Duchess, "What do you think?" and she'd say, "I hate it." So cute coming from those shiny lip gloss coated lips! Not.

I left the store with a throbbing shoulder and a shattered sense of confidence. The Duchess was really giving it to me good. Next stop, cutesy rubbery playground.

After tuckering herself out and then hitting the Disney Store for the new Pinocchio doll, I thought The Duchess might be up for hanging with me while I tried on a couple more shirts. I thought wrong.

Two shirts later and a hundred snarky remarks by The Duchess, I was ready to go. I was in true pain now and not on speaking terms with my four year old. As soon as we hit the car, she informed me that she was now hungry. It was 4:00. Crap.

I hit the drive through at Chick-fil-A where as usual, while placing my order over the speaker, The Duchess yelled, "And tell them I need Polynesian sauce!" I retrieved her order, handed it to her, ensured that her earphones were on, and turned on the radio. Two minutes later I looked in the rear view mirror and she was out like a light.

By the time I got home it was almost 5:00. We usually eat between 5:30 & 6:00. I was exhausted, sore and lacked any motivation whatsoever to cook a meal for Grumpy and Snotty.

As it turned out, Grumpy and Snotty were more than happy to forage through the pantry and fridge to find their own dinner. By this time The Duchess was awake from her little nap and happily chowing down on her nutritious chicken dinner. (You're judging me again, aren't you?!)

Mr. Right called at 6:00 to let me know that he was just leaving the office. Well, crap. I was hungry. I looked in the fridge and was delighted to find the Jello Jigglers we'd made last night. Neon blue ones. (What fruit is neon blue?!) I downed one or two...okay...three. Realizing it would be shameful to have Jello Jigglers as a meal, I opened the pantry and decided upon the ever so healthy meal of Cap'n Crunch with Crunchberries. I poured myself a Jethro Bodine sized portion and made quick haste of emptying the bowl. I put my bowl in the dishwasher and headed to the living room to relax. On the way to the couch I passed by the bowl of Easter candy and swiped three packs of Smarties.

I think this is where I slipped into the coma.

Tomorrow I'm staying home and going bra less. I'm going to make real food for The Duchess and I'm going to try to eat a vegetable.

Then I think I'll call Maryanne and try to let her down easy.