My kids measure everything in sleeps.
How many sleeps ’til we go to Disney?
How many sleeps will you be gone?
How many sleeps until Ice Age 10 comes out?
Ok, the last one kills me. How many Ice Ages are we going to make, 20th Century Fox, until we finally admit to the kids that the Earth turns to ice and they all die? Because I feel like you are setting me up to sit through an Inconvenient Truth with my children, and I can’t masturbate to Al Gore with them sitting next to me, so seriously, how many sleeps until that happens?
I always get really excited this time of year, because it’s around this time that stores admit they were totally joking about shorts and mullet dresses, and go back to giving my thighs what they want, jeans. Yes, it’s still technically hot and humid, and yes it’s still technically too early to spend my days dressed like Angela Chase, but the jeans are here, the jeans are here!
So the other day when Andy offered to take me out for a date night, I excitedly agreed, and as he was standing at the sink using his electric shaver that in no way smells like my lady envelope, because I definitely don’t use that ever, I put my leg up on the counter, clicked my Secret Clinical twice, and then rolled the deodorant down the inside of my thigh.
You realize that’s not your armpit?
I put my leg down, clicked my deodorant two more times, lifted my other leg to the counter, and repeated the process.
What are you doing?
Putting deodorant between my thighs.
Does this turn you on?
I don’t know, I’m confused. I think I’m horrified but I can’t tell for sure?
Well, I was gonna wear jeans but all the ones I have are stupid, so I have to wear a maxi dress, only it’s a billion degrees and my thighs get all sweaty and rubby, so I’m putting deodorant on them.
If I say we can go jeans shopping after dinner, will you not do that in front of me anymore?
Gosh, I guess. Do you want to watch me put my spanx on, or should I go in the closet?
That was a trick question. Don’t ever let your lovers watch you put body slimmers on, ladies. I’d let Andy watch a video of me delivering the placenta on loop before I’d let him watch me birth myself into a pair of spanx. Horrible acts occur squeezing into them, and it has to remain unseen if we ever want to make eye contact again or touch each other with our genitals.
So we went out to grab sushi and talked and talked and talked until we forgot I had deodorant between my legs, then shuffled off to Old Navy to see a man about a horse, or, a teen about some jeggings, whatever. Yes, sometimes I wished I lived in the middle ages with, like, tampons and iPhones, but I don’t. I live in a world where there are jeggings, and we wear them.
Honeycomb Rockstar Skinny Jeans, size 16, Old Navy (Tip! Usually I size down in jeggings because of the massive amounts of stretch, these, however, are cotton, not denim, and therefore a touch less stretchy, so I ordered my true size.)
Navy Striped Tank Top, Gap
Grey Cardigan, Target
Brown Leather Boots, Fitzwell 6pm (Tip! Holy Wide Calf, y’all! I can never, ever, find cute tall boots that fit my 17 inch calf, until now. These fit perfect and have room to spare, I ordered them in black and brown.)
How many sleeps ’til fall, you guys?