Are You There God? It’s Me Chris
May 25, 2006
I told myself that once the boy stopped nursing and the boobs resumed their normal permanent state that I would buy some new bras. But you probably already know that God, since you are omnipotent, omnipresent and omniscient. And, as an aside, my children want to know if you and Santa are friends? Anyway, wearing baggy stretched out nursing bras does nothing for the self esteem.
So I began looking for some new bras. Online, of course, because what little is left of my self esteem can not take trying on bras in a brightly fluorescent lit dressing room.
I actually broke out the tape measure and measured. Then I read the directions again.
Then I remeasured, because surely I was doing it wrong.
Then I read the directions again, out loud this time, just in case I had suddenly been struck by some sort of reading comprehension problem.
And then I remeasured again, with both lungs filled to capacity with air.
And I got the same result.
I feel so deflated, literally.
The website laughed at me and sent me to the children’s department to buy undershirts with a tiny pink rose in the center. Which will inevitably make it look like I have three nipples.
A friend of mine told me recently that she noticed her daughter had stuffed her bra with cotton balls. I can relate.
And God, while I am on this rant. Why can’t clothing manufacturers agree on sizing? Remember when I went to Old Navy a few weeks ago? Well I bought two pair of capri pants for myself, in the same size. One fits perfectly. One not at all. In fact, I am not sure who the second pair is made to fit. Someone who has hips three inches bigger than mine, yet thighs that are a few inches smaller. Maybe they are made for ten year old boys. Who don’t wear underwear. I don’t know.
Also God. Bathing suits. I don’t think I need to say anymore on this topic. I am afraid that should I wear one people who turn to look at me will be turned to pillars of salt, so great would be the horror.
Well, God that is it for now. I must go take my children to their class. Where I will see that woman who will totally insult me because she is perfect. And I will quietly seethe. And say curse words inside my head.
You might think I am taking your name in vain, but God, I am not. I want you to damn her. Smite her. If I wear a bathing suit under my clothes and flash her, could you turn her into a pillar of salt? or a burning bush? That would be cool. I’ll bring marshmallows.
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