A honeycrisp apple approximately the size of Jelly Bean’s head. Surely if any piece of produce could imbue me with super bloat-repelling powers it would be this magnificent beast!
Truth: I have one of those period tracker apps on my phone. I’d like to say it’s just more evidence of my hysterical white lady hypochondriac shtick but this thing is dope. Not only does it track my monthly shark bait business but it also lets me track my mood and symptoms – the only thing that makes me feel less “gloomy” “exhausted” and “frustrated” is noting that the icon for “breast tenderness” is a fork. (Also, bloated is a cupcake and constipation is a bottle of something fizzy with a bulging stopper. Makes me giggle every time I click on it, virtually saying, “YES. This IS ME” – an overstuffed fizzy cupcake with a fork in her boob.) Which I have been doing all day today since the Tampaxalypse is nigh. Anyhow, by now I’ve written enough about my wicked PMS to choreograph my own musical where the streets are paved with yellow bricks of fish oil, flowered fields seduce with the magical scent of magnesium tablets and flying monkeys bring raspberry leaf detox tea in jumbo jars.
See? We’re so obsessed with thick, luscious locks that even adorably bald babies are supposed to put a mop on their top to prove they’re a girl!
Big accomplishment today: Remember the age-old gym debate of camel toe versus muffin top? You know, when you can’t decide whether to hike your ill-fitting workout pants up and give yourself wicked camel toe or tug them down and roll out your muffin top? Well, I have settled the debate once and for all by wearing an outfit today that managed to do both, thanks to yanking my capris up into dromedary territory and then topping them with a tennis skirt that rode low into bakersville! I win again!
That wasn’t my only dubious accomplishment for the day, however.
“Oh hey, just a sec. Let me get that for you…” My husband leaned in to brush something off the side of my jaw for me. Suddenly feeling a sharp pain, I yelped as he exclaimed, “What the?! It’s attached!”
The “it” was a chin (lower back jaw actually) hair long enough that I could allllmost get it into my ponytail. Yep.
Cartoon from the perpetually awesome Natalie Dee
Constipation: Lots of people have it. No one talks about it. Yet everyone needs to poop. Indeed, I daresay that a decent dookie is one of life’s great pleasures – one everyone deserves to have, er, regularly.
Spending half my life in bathrooms, as I do now that Jelly Bean is officially in that potty trained phase known as “Her highness’ bowel whims rule all”, I’ve had a lot of time to contemplate the nature of number two. Especially since now that I’ve stopped giving her a candy every time she goes off like a leaky sprinkler, she’s decided to stop pooping until I bring back her M&Ms. (Note: Has anyone ever contemplated the weirdness of giving a small chocolate candy to a child who has just pooped something the size and shape of a brown M&M? Just me?) I swear to you she’s constipating herself in the name of sugar and power struggles. And in toddler world constipation translates to lots of extra laundry. My life stinks right now. Literally. (And that’s not even counting all the times I’ve had to fish a brown barge out of the bathtub. With my bare hand.)