- Having your own child look at you and shriek: "Mama, where did you GO?" or even more Weird, "Mama, um, you're HOT!"
- Your husband reaches out for your leg, and in your new skinny jeans, has to pat a bit before finding you inside them, inspiring another "Where did you go?"
- Putting on a ring that has been too small for years, only to have it fall off your finger. And then the next finger. And then the next.
- Ditto for shoes that were too snug that will now no longer remain on your feet.
- Trying on clothes that turn out to be comfortable, and not having a repeat of XXXs across the size tag.
- Realizing that not only are the XXXs all missing, but there's an M there instead.
- Your own doctor double-takes -- repeatedly -- before even coming close to recognize you.
- Same for friends. And family.
- .... yet you are recognized immediately by a Switch you haven't seen in months, who squeals like a schoolgirl that you've melted away. And then calls you a skinny bitch.
- ... being called a skinny bitch. O.o (Score!)
- Bending over to do gardening, having trouble standing up, and realizing you no longer have an ass for ballast against your chest. Gravity works.
- Having to learn how to sit down all over again. Pooka has a bony ass. Sitting down incorrectly -hurts-. (stop laughing, damn you, or I'll flop down in your lap and impale your thighs with my bony ass)
- Walking into an auditorium and realizing that except for the soccer moms that look like Kitiara and Evelynne, you're not only normal, but on the thin side of normal.
- Picking up a pair of jeans, and gaping in wonder that you can fit into something that looks that small, instead of gaping that "Oh my God, is my ass REALLY that big?"
- Looking at your reflection and realizing there's no longer any disgust at it. Then being able to grin. A lot.
Veni, Vidi, Ventus --
The randomly chaotic and crafty scribblings of a deranged, wannabe artist allowed too many colours in her Crayon box.
Surgeon General's Warning: Some content of "From Pooka's Crayon" may not be suitable for: work, blue-haired little old ladies, the politically-correct, rabid moonbats, uptight mothers, priests, chronic idiots, insurance claims agents, Democrats, children, small furry quadropeds from Alpha Centauri, or your sanity.
The randomly chaotic and crafty scribblings of a deranged, wannabe artist allowed too many colours in her Crayon box.
Surgeon General's Warning: Some content of "From Pooka's Crayon" may not be suitable for: work, blue-haired little old ladies, the politically-correct, rabid moonbats, uptight mothers, priests, chronic idiots, insurance claims agents, Democrats, children, small furry quadropeds from Alpha Centauri, or your sanity.
Friday, May 20, 2005
The Good, The Bad, The Weird
Okay, mostly just the Weird.
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