But with age, and help from being preggo with kids at diferent intervals, My body has begun it's quiet rebellion. For the past five years I've had to do the lean and stuff with my boobs, in a b-cup no less. Lately It's been more of a roll and tuck action, which is nice...
My cute little bubble butt is drooping, my feet have been swollen and deflated so many times that I have to roll my pinky toes under my foot to fit into any type of high heel. Sciatica is my frenemy, and my joints hate me at the least opportune times. I don't really mind any of this, it's a part of life, and all my aches, pains, and bulge-y bits show me that I've lived.
The reason I bitch is this.
I'm to be in a wedding this fall, and we ordered our dresses and shoes online. It's to be a pin-up style wedding, so everything is skin-tight and smokin-hot. I'm wearing this dress that's fit to burst the boobies out, and sizzle the attention. Also, these super-sexy three inch patent teal shoes that make drool burst from all orifices.
I had my third boy this past Christmas, and he took a real toll on me. I was a hot sweating aching mess the whole pregnancy. And after was a big blur, as the family moved, got the stomach flu, and other such fun things. So I've not really been paying attention to myself, other shit is going on.
Did I mention that with each of my pregnancies I've gained roughly 85 lbs each time? And that each time a year's combination of insomnia, illness, and too much work has gotten me roughly back down to what I was before, give or take 5 lbs. Lucky me. So I think I was kind of leaning on that fact to fit me into these clothes.
We got our dresses and shoes a month ago, and like the genius I am, I got everything in the size I was before the last kid. I bought spanx to help smooth everything out, and I've been
And I was very right. After a few sweaty minutes with my spanx, I had to conceed that even they weren't going any higher than midthigh. And after a few minutes tottering around like a drunk chicken with my pinky toes shoved under the rest of my foot like they were frightened, I had to tell myself that wearing this stuff was going to take a LOT of practise and dedication. And Since I love the lady who's getting murried to pieces,and I'm too cheap to exchange everything( shipping prices to the states suck the balls!) I had to try.
So I started running again.
I've never been a fan of running on treadmills, My aunt calls them 'The long run to Nowhere', and I agree.
Plus, I live in a small enough town that really, the only option is outside on gravel roads. I've been going nice and fucking early in the morn, when my household still sleeps, and so does the town. I also go before the town running group. Yes there is one, but they're mostly comprised of older ladies that take a specific meandering route that ends in the town coffeeshop.
So my first morning out, blisteringly early, blearingly tired, with the last of winter slapping me in the face.(yeah we had winter until last week) I got outside. I'd made sure to wear my loosest, comfiest sweater, tightest and best ventilated yoga pants, and brand new runners. I stretched, and started walking. So far so good. I broke in to a light jog as I rounded the corner, and after 30 seconds or so, I realized someone was behind me. At the next corner I stopped and pretended to stretch, and nonchalantly looked around, but whoever had been behind me must have turned into a house or something. I continued on, trying to keep my breath in check, trying to move my body so my boobs didn't get too excited, and wondering how red my face was. I also started hearing footfall behind me again, and as there was no one awake at that hour, I started to wonder if it was a dog or a maybe a cow or something following me. The oddest part? I think it was trying to keep time with me...I did that sneaky, over the shoulder check, almost tripping over my new fucking uncomfortable shoes, and again, nothing was there. I decided to head back to the house at that point, feeling a little creeped out, and the footfall started following me again. I ran faster and so did they. Then my little caffiene-deprived brain connected the dots and yelled at me, " It's your ASS. Your ass is following you, dummy. Look, it's trying to escape your fancy-pants.'
And there it was. My ass was trying to beat the back of my legs into submission, trying to tell me to stop. Lovely. That was when I noticed my shoelace had come undone, so I bent over, ass flapping in the wind, to tie up my shoe. And that's when my tit rolled out.
At least it was early enough that only a couple farmers may have seen me do the lopsided walk of shame home.