Yesterday I had to go to a wake for an older family member. A great aunt, I think?
How horrid is that?
I guess I didn’t really know her as well as I probably should have.
But, that is one of the perks of having an agoraphobic father…free pass to skip all the family reunions.
Anyways, I went sans toddlers, because, well, as a rule, I try not to take them places where it’s not ok to eat boogers and punch each other in the wieners…which pretty much limits us to Oma’s house and Outback Steakhouse.
But, I did take the baby. She’s still basically a carry on accessory, and who doesn’t love to oogle a baby when faced with the awkward situation of not knowing who the fuck I am as I wander around a funeral home judging the flower arraignments and stealing the mints from the guest book pedestal?
Don’t mind me, look at the adorable baby!
So, aside from no one knowing who the hell I was…I also showed up looking like a homeless porn star.
It was hot. And, my hair was all snarly and frizzy. And, I had sweated off all my mascara so it pooled below my eyes. And, I ran out of deodorant (side note: does $48374646 Secret Clinical make anybody else’s armpits itch like crazy?), so I had to use my husband’s Old Spice. It burned.
Oh, and the only thing I could fit into that wasn’t sweatpants, was a sundress that barely covered my nipples.
With every fuss, my boobs became more engorged, more veiny looking. I felt the milk leak through the breast pad and run down my (totally flat) stomach. By the time I left, my underwear was soaked with breast milk, and when I got in my super hot car, I am pretty sure it curded the whole way home.
By the time I got home, I was drenched and smelled like day old yogurt.
So, in short…total hottie.
And speaking of not fitting into anything…
I am too fat for the zoo.
It was, like, 85 degrees Wednesday.
We were standing in the African area, looking at the hippos.
And, there was this hippo walking around, all chapped between her thighs and neck fat area.
I have never related to anyone so much in my life.
A fat chapped hippo.
That is how you know you are too fat for the zoo.
Other totally brilliant revelations?
Monkey foreplay? More awkward. Less hot.
You know it’s going to be a suck ass day when you pull into the parking lot to find eleventy billion (real number) school buses already there, which means, huge groan, way more hyperactive, unsupervised school children than you care to deal with on absolutely any occasion. Ever.
Baby girl parts are like the levies that failed during Katrina. I am used to having a working levy (read: little boy parts) that stop the onslaught of hurricane grade poop. Without the balls there to stop things, it’s just, ugh, a shit storm, right up to her belly button…in the zoo bathroom…to the soundtrack of screeching birds and wild, horny monkeys.
People who go to the zoo and take pictures of the animals are assholes. They block the whole viewing area so they can take pictures…of zoo animals. Like they are fucking Dian Fossey? When are you ever going to look at these pictures again? I mean, aside from if you are going to leave the zoo to immediately go live in an underground bunker somewhere where you will never see a living thing ever again, and you spend your days eating astronaut food, jerking off and reminiscing over the blurry pictures of semi-exotic animals you took through the bars at the zoo? Amateur zoo photographers…total tools.
I don’t care how hot it is, it is never hot enough to tuck your shirt up under your bra…when you are in a motorized scooter…due to obvious weight and mobility issues.
If me and the hippo can suck it up and waddle our sweaty chapped asses around without showing our fat rolls, so can you.