While doing laundry today, I came across a button down shirt I had worn a couple of days ago. It made me close my eyes for a brief moment and sigh.
Clothes do that to you when you’re pre-menopausal.
You see, I was sighing because the last time I wore it, I was out to lunch with my family feeling fine and dandy, having a grand ol’ time, when I dropped food.
Of course, I dropped food onto my shirt in the boobie-region. As you know from stories past, I have a habit of doing that.
Rubbing it with my napkin only made it worse (it was an oil-based salad dressing), and by that time any possibility of my actions going un-noticed was shot to hell.
Do you have any idea how uncomfortable it is to be the fat chick at the table and to be found trying to remove food from your clothing? It drives home the fact that you eat with such wild abandon, the food flies like shrapnel.
So I’m rubbing pointlessly at the spot when I realize that the shirt is so tight it’s gaping between the button holes.
Not in the boobie-region, where I would feel pride about it.
But in the tire region, where I do NOT feel pride about it.
I have noticed, sadly, that those two regions are not as far apart as they used to be.
Anyways, I stopped rubbing the spot on my shirt. Now I didn’t want to get rid of it…I wanted it to remain as a distraction from the fat-gap.
See, I’m always thinkin’. Stick with me, I’ve got a million genius tips like this to share.
Mama Boe 