Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Things Worse Than Tough Asparagus…

Many thanks to my hysterical friend, Theresa, for my new metaphor! Last night, over some divinely fried and perfectly tender asparagus, Theresa and I were discussing how disappointing and aggravating it is to bite into tough, stringy asparagus…especially after dropping too much money for the bunch.

I am not a morning person. Upon arriving at my office, I was inundated with things that I find to be worse than tough asparagus…not that it was a difficult challenge, i.e. I’m not a morning person.

Thing #1: New Work Trousers. I gladly spent lots of money on new work trousers whilst in Dallas last week. B was doped up on pain meds and feeling guilty that I was going to have to drive him back to B/CS at the crack of dawn that next morning to see our dentist…because of our stupid DHMO…and don’t even get me started on how much worse DHMO’s are than tough asparagus…so I figured it was perfect timing to spend some of his hard earned money. I was right. But here’s where it’s aggravating. You know I’ve been complaining about gaining weight since getting married? Well, now I’m very happy with the way my new pants look on me. Not to mention the two new pairs of Lucky jeans I talked him into after the St. Paddy’s Day Parade we attended the Saturday before …thank you patron saint of green beer. Gee, B sounds like a lush, right? He’s not. But I do like all of my new pants, and now if I use the exercise bike we purchased at the beginning of the month…what if they stop fitting?! You ask, “Sarabeth, what woman in her ever-lovin’ mind would be concerned about losing weight?” Well if you’re asking me this, I say you are either a man who can easily fit into any measurement x measurement, standard pair of paints, or you’re a twig of a woman with a steady, fast metabolism, or you’re rich. Any woman, who has any hint of curves, knows how ridiculously difficult and expensive it can be to find the appropriate style and fit of trousers or jeans. The fit has to be somewhere between “12-year-old boy fit with your womanly rear hanging out” and “matronly, high-waisted on your way to pick up your kids from soccer…with log-leg to boot” Hard to achieve…but when you do…you’re overwhelmed with rapture. At least I am. So if I use said exercise bike, I may risk losing my newly acquired perfect fit. Oh, the drama and far-reaching trauma of pants!

Thing#2: People seem to want to talk to me...before 12pm...

Bis Bald,

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