Gravity wins again!

So… as usual…at my desk, minding my bidness (daydreaming and whatnot) when our handsome landscaper man walks up and says:

“Here Lisa, I brought these flowers for you…they smell as sweet as you look!”

Well, actually, that is not how it all played out, but remember.. I was mid-daydream when he walked up to my desk and said:

“I was just pruning some of the bushes and trees outside and brought up these cuttings in case anyone would like to take some home. They smell kinda nice.”

Me:  “ME! ME! ME!”

Him:  “You can share them, you know.”

Me: “Can, but not going to.” *so smug*

I loves me mah flowers.  Right?  I got this large scent organ in my nose and all….

So, not too much later at the end of the day, I walk around to be sure our buildings are locked up. Handsome landscaper man was out on the riding lawn mower with his straw hat on…mowing a particular area in a LOOP PATTERN.  This is important information for you.

As I am walking.. in my cute little blue dress and strappy wedge heels.. I see him and offer up a casual wave, he waves from the mower.  I check the door. Locked.  I turn to strut my stuff back to the office just as handsome landscaper man is facing me on “the loop.”  We exchange smiles (no need to over do the whole waving bit) and he makes his turn.  All the while, I’m still pretending he actually GAVE me flowers and ‘aren’t I just the cutest thing in the dress and sandals.’

Then it happens. My left heel slips off the wedge, and I see concrete coming at me FAST!  Hit my right knee and right wrist.  Then I just laid there for a sec to be sure I didn’t break something this time.   No bodily injuries but my ego is surely bruised.  And suddenly I am back to reality:  I could hear the mower and realized he would be turning the loop and facing my direction any moment!  I scrambled up.. and glanced his way to see…..yes… his back was still to me.  Whew! I walk away giggling and rubbing my ouchy wrist.  That was almost humiliating.

In my defense, my left leg and foot can not be relied upon for stability right now.  I had an MRI last week.. still suffering with the sciatica and my leg and foot are, well, numb.  So.. I know.. why in all my brilliance do I slip my compromised foot into 2 inch heels?  

Because they are cute.  With my dress.  That’s why.


Making the Grade in Bra-Land

Bra Art Auction

So the other day I had some free time without the fam to do a little shopping.  I needed ………………..UNDERGARMENTS  in the worst way.  My bras have lost their elasticity and my undies……..well.  I’m at that place in my life where getting bras and underwear at Costco will suffice.  I don’t want to be in “that place.”  I want to be in the place where I shop at Victoria Secret.  But my finances compromised and sent me to Macy’s for a fitting.. and then shopping at Target for the over-the-shoulder-boulder-holders.  

I’ve never had a “bra fitting.”  I’m 38.  I’ve never figured that my girls needed that kind of …I don’t know…consideration.  I head into the fitting room with a nice woman carrying measuring tape.  After a few embarassed giggles by me, she tells me the news.  A “D.”

REALLY? No.. really?  I’m the girl who at 22 got shooed out of a Fredricks of Hollywood because they don’t have bras for girls with mosquitos bites on their chests.  Granted.. motherhood changed that.

I’m so excited that as soon as she leaves I text my husband.

“Dude!  I’m a D cup!  Just got measured! Who knew?!?!”

“Nice. Who measured them?”

“A young woman, silly!”

“Did she like them? Can you pick up some photo paper?”

I call him to tell him I’m not at Costco anymore.  “You’re not?” he says.  



“Wuuuullllll, I don’t know…..”

Ugh.. so I got a couple of bras there and then went to Target to get some more affordable ones, in my new size… a D!  The only size I don’t object going up in. But it turns out that a D means….too big for the cutie bras.  And I am not buying those torpedo tit ones.  Sorry, but no.  So.. plain ole bras.  Hmmpf.

Onto the undies.  You know you need to try on jeans right? So you know what fits your ass?  But all these undies are in these little sealed packages, so it is such a gamble to try to get the kind that fit perfectly.  And I have a challenging ass.  I need an “ass fitting.” Bought 3 different kinds that all failed horribly at home. GRRRR!  

Here is one of my favorite blog posts EVER, by Preteens, Toddlers, and New Borns, Oh My! about her experience bra shopping.  You will die laughing!  Really.