Sunday, March 31, 2013

Easter Underwear

This is a post to my fellow soul sisters who, no matter how many times you drag yourself to the gym or forgo a burger in favor or celery, will never look like a twelve year old, anorexic runway model. I’m hoping you can relate because if a large group of people does something then that something, by definition, is no longer crazy. Maladaptive and destructive? Sure. But not certifiable.

Carbohydrates are my drug of choice. (And, based on the way I abuse this drug, it is a damn good thing that I never started anything stronger.) Two components factor in to my perpetual meandering around the kitchen, opening cupboards then fridge in a repetitive manner. Or, forgoing the kitchen all together in favor of a visit to my dealer’s drive through window.

One is the obsessive, compulsive aspect of my personality.  When a plan is formed, I become a single minded driving force, plowing through constraints to obtain that goal.  In some ways it is great and a whole lot of stuff actually gets done.  In other ways it sucks. So when the plan becomes acquisition of a bagel with lox then chances are good I’ll be headed to Einstein’s.

The other component involves stress management and the lack of it.  Following the serendipity of dessert is stressed spelling backwards, there is a correlation to my life situation and the circumference of my thighs.  

Therefore, if I were to write the above story problem into a formula it would be:

Me OCD x (ex-husband + litigation) Foolishness  = Caloric Intake
Hours Sleeping – Irritating dog behavior

Will you be making a point and any juncture in this post? Why yes! And that is an excellent question.

The point is, after two month of loggerheads about every feasible aspect of parenting, the result is not a functional and reasonable parenting plan. (Well obviously!) The result is a need for new foundation garments to accommodate my accumulation of manifested stress.

Combine this with another emergent factor.  My kitchen has had no functioning light for several weeks.  I’m content to use the illumination from the fridge but my middle child is here and therefore a light bulb purchasing venture becomes mandatory.

So, for Easter Sunday, we engage in that little known custom of department store shopping. Evidently, in my area, Easter dresses are accompanied by a run on new underwear and I am faced with pitiful rummaging options.

To compound this, there is a big sized girl, like myself, with her boyfriend, requesting his opinion of panty color, cut and design. “But look honey, this one has butterflies.” “Well, I’m not going to be wearing them.  You find something that you like.” “But I’m doing this for you!” This effectively blocks and entire isle of desired product.

However, determination paid off and the end result is an Easter Bunny basket with big girl panties and light bulbs.  

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