nice things to hear on a marginally crappy day
I get out of the shower. I put on my skin-firming lotion, which is actually working to decrease the appearance of my cellulite. (Aveeno, if you'd like to know; best one I've tried, and I am a skin-firming-lotion junkie) I dig around in the closet for something to wear that will be casual enough to go with the jeans I unfortunately had to buy at Wal-Mart but are like, the best-fitting jeans ever to go around my ass.
I find a sweater I haven't worn in ages, and I can't remember why. It's beige, has wine-colored flowers and green knitted vines around a cutout in the cleavage. Did I put it away because of the little knitted tie, or did I get sick of pushing the big bell sleeves out of my way at work? I can't remember, and that doesn't make sense anyway, because I love big bell sleeves, damn the practicality. Maybe I put it aside because it doesn't cover my ass, but you know what? I have really good underwear that are boy-cut, and made of microfiber, and I thnk they're Hanes. They are advertised as "the best-fitting panties you'll ever wear." And you know, that's a tall claim, and it is true.
So from waist down, I'm comfy. I tug the sweater on and look down at myself, and WHOA my god, the cleavage. It's like this huge gaping wound in the sweater RIGHT between my boobs. And I'm going, "Ohh-hoho, no." And I pull it off again.
hubby: Why? What's wrong with that? That looked good.
me: I am not going to Chuck E. Cheese's looking like that.
hubby: *insistently* Why not? There wasn't anything wrong with it, you couldn't see that much unless you're you, looking straight down on it. It was hot. Wear it. Admit to your sexiness and own it.
Well then. I guess I'll wear the sweater.
*snogs hubby*
I find a sweater I haven't worn in ages, and I can't remember why. It's beige, has wine-colored flowers and green knitted vines around a cutout in the cleavage. Did I put it away because of the little knitted tie, or did I get sick of pushing the big bell sleeves out of my way at work? I can't remember, and that doesn't make sense anyway, because I love big bell sleeves, damn the practicality. Maybe I put it aside because it doesn't cover my ass, but you know what? I have really good underwear that are boy-cut, and made of microfiber, and I thnk they're Hanes. They are advertised as "the best-fitting panties you'll ever wear." And you know, that's a tall claim, and it is true.
So from waist down, I'm comfy. I tug the sweater on and look down at myself, and WHOA my god, the cleavage. It's like this huge gaping wound in the sweater RIGHT between my boobs. And I'm going, "Ohh-hoho, no." And I pull it off again.
hubby: Why? What's wrong with that? That looked good.
me: I am not going to Chuck E. Cheese's looking like that.
hubby: *insistently* Why not? There wasn't anything wrong with it, you couldn't see that much unless you're you, looking straight down on it. It was hot. Wear it. Admit to your sexiness and own it.
Well then. I guess I'll wear the sweater.
*snogs hubby*