Showing posts with label felicia day. Show all posts
Showing posts with label felicia day. Show all posts

Sunday, May 13, 2012

I don't need Hallmark to tell me you love me.

It's Mother's Day.   Sugar Daddy had already left for work, but when I came downstairs, I found this note waiting for me on the computer.  
I know this means that he probably forgot to buy me a card, but you know what?  I don't need Hallmark to tell me how special I am to him when he's got the means to link words together all pretty like that.  
I do love that man.  So as Elliot said regarding E.T., "I'm keeping him."
This was my note:
For my Wife on Mother’s Day:

No fancy card is going to convey how proud I am that you are the Mother of our children. You help raise them with their best interests in mind. You do so much for them that I could never do, or do as well, like hair, “girl-talk” make-up, etc.. Since I work a lot, it’s so nice, and comforting, to know that there is stability here at home provided by you.

We are all thankful for what you do as Queen of this castle. WEAR YOUR CROWN PROUDLY TODAY!!

Love,

Gidget


To answer the question his closing words put in your mind, yes, I call him Gidget.  He's also often referred to as Princess Stephanie.   And sometimes Sharon.
*shrug*
It amuses me.
 
 
Did you get anything meaningful this Mother's Day?

 
 

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Death By Underwire, a.k.a. "These pasties make my thighs itch."

I get to keep my boobs!  (Yes, this is blog-worthy.)  I got those puppies squeezed in a mammography contraption last Friday and by Saturday afternoon I was holding a note in my hand telling me how fantastic my breasts are.   Okay, so their actual words were "your breast examination did not show any sign of cancer or any significant change since the prior study", but what they meant was "Damn, Erika, your boobs ROCK!"

WOOT!  Time to buy some new bras for my healthy (and completely awesome) rack!  

My mother had a tradition for years that every clear mammogram would be celebrated with fancy new duds for the girls.  I liked that.  So I adopted the tradition as my own.  *yoink*  Mine.  
Thanks, Mom.

New bras make me think about gravity and the defiance thereof and all kinds of things that make me question the awesomeness of my breasts. Whatever masochist came up with the idea that our breasts should not suffer the effects of gravity was a fool.  I mean, it's pretty inevitable.  Long boobs are Borg. I have to say, when Long and Low is one day considered fashionable, I will be super-ready for it and jump up and down to show my excitement, probably aiding gravity in its quest, but who cares?!   Resistance really is futile.  And at last I will be chic!

Since Stacy and Clinton haven't made the announcement that low riders are in, I'll make the world believe they've maintained their optimum height...for now.  But because my once bodacious ta-tas find themselves closer to the Navel Sector every year, Flopsy and Dropsy need a boost in the form of industrial strength hoisting.  I fed three children with these things.  They will never be perky again (without major surgery) so I torture myself daily with bras that could set off metal detectors. Eventually, my Xena the Warrior Princess get-up will get a chink in its armor, leaving me to risk puncture left and right. 
I can see the headline: Death by Under-wire.

But I put myself through it because they make my boobs look freaking awesome and those tasseled pasties make my thighs itch.

So thank you, breasteses.  Your gift for not trying to kill me is hot pink.  You're welcome. 



Do you celebrate the good results of your mammograms?  How?

Some Other Stuff I Wrote