My first real job (not the babysitting ones) was working at a Häagen-Dazs in Park Slope. The one I worked at (Michelle's Häagen-Dazs) is no longer there, but there's a new one two blocks down where the Neergaard pharmacy used to be (corner of President and Seventh, across from the Citibank). Now the Neergaard has moved too (next door to the Citibank).
Anyways, my first real job...
Scooping ice cream for a living is harder work than you'd think, especially Häagen-Dazs which is harder than your average ice cream. The trick is to keep your scoop in luke warm water between uses.
The first week I worked there I ate tons of ice cream. After that, I didn't eat ice cream again for about a year. You don't think of ice cream as having a smell, but when you've been scooping it all day, you go home smelling of it. Vanilla mostly. My cat found it very intriguing. I found it to completely eliminate any desire I had to eat ice cream. I lost three pounds that summer.
Back then, Häagen-Dazs had these t-shirts. You remember them. "Häagen-Dazs" across the front and a flavor in big letters across the back. I had several: Vanilla (black with white letters); Chocolate (brown with white letters); Boysenberry (purple with white letters); Coffee (tan with white letters? White with tan letters?); and the big error in judgment, Cherry Vanilla (white with red letters).
Moms and Dads out there, never ever let your teen-aged daughter out of the house wearing ANYTHING that says "Cherry Vanilla" across the back.
During my tenure there, they started changing the shirts to the ones that say "Häagen-Dazs" across the front with "Ice Cream" in script on a diagonal between the breasts. Also a mistake.
Häagen-Dazs is still up there on my list of favorite ice creams and it's definitely my favorite ice cream parlor. The chocolate crunchies alone are worth the price of admission and no one else seems to have them.
Years go by. Things change.
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Sunday, May 29, 2005
Dreaming of a ham sandwich
And not just any ham sandwich, but a ham hero from Hertzog's Delicatessen, the deli around the corner from my mom's house. Unfortunately, my mom's house is in Brooklyn and the deli is long gone. It was there through my childhood and then, when I went to college they went out of business (coincidence? I think not. I was in there 4 days a week).
Their ham hero was a masterpiece of italian bread (not too thick, not too thin), heaps of thinly sliced ham (you could see your hand through it), shredded lettuce, thin sliced tomatoes, mayonaise and mustard that was so thickly spread it oozed out the sides when you took your first (huge) bite. My beverage of choice to go with this sandwich nirvana was Coke, back before anyone ever thought of having a New Coke. I mean, really.
Their pickles were good too.
Sigh.
Their ham hero was a masterpiece of italian bread (not too thick, not too thin), heaps of thinly sliced ham (you could see your hand through it), shredded lettuce, thin sliced tomatoes, mayonaise and mustard that was so thickly spread it oozed out the sides when you took your first (huge) bite. My beverage of choice to go with this sandwich nirvana was Coke, back before anyone ever thought of having a New Coke. I mean, really.
Their pickles were good too.
Sigh.
Explanation of the post below.
I decided to post a letter to Muffin Man that I found last month. This one's pretty typical, not quite as much just drooling over him as some, quite a bit more detail than others.
I was thinking about how he's really not that little baby anymore and yet...there's so much about him that is like that baby. His intense concentration when he wants to perfect a skill. His happy babbling. His imagination. His ticklish little belly.
Today we went for our usual brunch at That's Amore. We do this most Sunday mornings, and the Sunday Brunch Buffet at our local TA is great. Pretty good food, which we can serve to a hungry toddler quickly and teach him restaurant manners when other patrons won't be disturbed too much. So far, our evil plan is working pretty well.
Normally, we get there, get seated and I go and get MM's food, bring it back and then get food for myself. Today, we all went and got our food together, MM picking his own and even serving himself from the fruit plates and bagel basket (using tongs!), I mean he's gone to get dessert for himself before, but this is a whole new level!
Last week at home, he didn't like what we were offering him for dinner, so he went to the 'fridge, opened it, broke a Yo Baby yogurt off of the rest of the pack, closed the 'fridge, went to the silverware drawer, got a spoon, brought the spoon and the yogurt to the table, opened the yogurt, stirred it and ate it. With no help from anyone.
Where has my little baby gone?
I was thinking about how he's really not that little baby anymore and yet...there's so much about him that is like that baby. His intense concentration when he wants to perfect a skill. His happy babbling. His imagination. His ticklish little belly.
Today we went for our usual brunch at That's Amore. We do this most Sunday mornings, and the Sunday Brunch Buffet at our local TA is great. Pretty good food, which we can serve to a hungry toddler quickly and teach him restaurant manners when other patrons won't be disturbed too much. So far, our evil plan is working pretty well.
Normally, we get there, get seated and I go and get MM's food, bring it back and then get food for myself. Today, we all went and got our food together, MM picking his own and even serving himself from the fruit plates and bagel basket (using tongs!), I mean he's gone to get dessert for himself before, but this is a whole new level!
Last week at home, he didn't like what we were offering him for dinner, so he went to the 'fridge, opened it, broke a Yo Baby yogurt off of the rest of the pack, closed the 'fridge, went to the silverware drawer, got a spoon, brought the spoon and the yogurt to the table, opened the yogurt, stirred it and ate it. With no help from anyone.
Where has my little baby gone?
Letter to Muffin Man (May 6 2002 - 13 weeks, 3 days)
You slept through the night 4 out of the last 6 nights - three of them were in a row!
Your favorite toy is a "Pentapus" - a 5 legged octopus that hangs on your Gymini. You grab it with both hands - a new skill. You used to flail wildly, then you batted at the pentapus purposefully, then you tried to grab it with one hand while the other flailed wildly. Once you've grabbed a leg or two in each hand, you shove its feet in your mouth. You talk to it, too. I don't know what you're saying, but you do find a lot to talk about. You also talk to the mobile above your crib.
You've really started talking to Daddy and me and we talk back, but it's pretty clear we're not talking about the same things yet.
You're starting to get ticklish and it's getting warm enough now that you are enjoying wearing only your diaper. Yesterday, I left you in just a diaper for about an hour and you wriggled a lot - feeling your play mat under your skin.
Maybe tonight you'll make it 5 out of 7!
Love,
Mommy
Your favorite toy is a "Pentapus" - a 5 legged octopus that hangs on your Gymini. You grab it with both hands - a new skill. You used to flail wildly, then you batted at the pentapus purposefully, then you tried to grab it with one hand while the other flailed wildly. Once you've grabbed a leg or two in each hand, you shove its feet in your mouth. You talk to it, too. I don't know what you're saying, but you do find a lot to talk about. You also talk to the mobile above your crib.
You've really started talking to Daddy and me and we talk back, but it's pretty clear we're not talking about the same things yet.
You're starting to get ticklish and it's getting warm enough now that you are enjoying wearing only your diaper. Yesterday, I left you in just a diaper for about an hour and you wriggled a lot - feeling your play mat under your skin.
Maybe tonight you'll make it 5 out of 7!
Love,
Mommy
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
This made me laugh so hard, I swear I need to change my pjs.
Dooce has done it again. And I am so there. I've been there. I've seen it. But only Dooce could describe it so perfectly, so wickedly.
Pictures of the house of one year.
The lower picture is the front door. The upper picture is my turret room. When I read Daddy Longlegs years later I pictured Judy sitting on her padded dresser top in that tiny window.
UPDATE: This house was built by a doctor when the neighborhood was thriving. He also built two houses next door to this one for his married daughters. By the time we lived there, the neighborhood had fallen on hard times. So, though the house is fabulous, it was not (at that time) fabulously expensive. Now? Well, the neighborhood is having a renaissance, so who knows?
I love my parents but...(continued)
So. That was the first of three times in the one year we lived in that house that we were robbed. The other two times were your normal run-of-the-mill break-ins when no-one was home.
Which is why we only lived there one year. The following year Dad and Step-mom moved to a duplex in Greenwich Village. Also a lovely house. They have great taste.
Now, you may notice that Mom and Step-dad are still living in Brooklyn. I'm still going to the school I've always gone to in Brooklyn (not the greatest of schools academically, though excellent if you're interested in the life of Harriet Tubman. It's since been swallowed up by an academically superior school).
Are you now asking the $24,000 questions?
Nothing ever happened to me on the subway until I was an adult (it's another story, save it for another post). But still! God, if I had a subway token for everytime I got lost and ended up somewhere I'd never heard of on the R or M line...BTW, if this ever happens to you, find the nearest token booth and/or the nearest police officer. They will help you find your way home. All the better if you are crying. Even better if you are very short. Thank you to all of the nice employees of New York City who helped me back then.
Note: Good survival technique for inexperienced subway riders - Sing loudly and off-key. Everyone will think you're crazy and they won't bother you. Oh! And don't wear flashy jewelry. And don't make eye-contact.
And just in case you think I'm picking on Dad & Stepmom in these two stories, I'm not. All of these decisions (no babysitter, no change in schedule, no guardian on the subway) were jointly made by all 4 of my parents.
Which is why we only lived there one year. The following year Dad and Step-mom moved to a duplex in Greenwich Village. Also a lovely house. They have great taste.
Now, you may notice that Mom and Step-dad are still living in Brooklyn. I'm still going to the school I've always gone to in Brooklyn (not the greatest of schools academically, though excellent if you're interested in the life of Harriet Tubman. It's since been swallowed up by an academically superior school).
Are you now asking the $24,000 questions?
Q: Did the half-week/half-week schedule change to accomodate the move?
A: No.
Q: How did little Miss MysteryMommy get from her dad and step-mom's house in Greenwich Village to her school in Brooklyn?
A: The D or the F. By myself. In 6th grade. Oy.
Nothing ever happened to me on the subway until I was an adult (it's another story, save it for another post). But still! God, if I had a subway token for everytime I got lost and ended up somewhere I'd never heard of on the R or M line...BTW, if this ever happens to you, find the nearest token booth and/or the nearest police officer. They will help you find your way home. All the better if you are crying. Even better if you are very short. Thank you to all of the nice employees of New York City who helped me back then.
Note: Good survival technique for inexperienced subway riders - Sing loudly and off-key. Everyone will think you're crazy and they won't bother you. Oh! And don't wear flashy jewelry. And don't make eye-contact.
And just in case you think I'm picking on Dad & Stepmom in these two stories, I'm not. All of these decisions (no babysitter, no change in schedule, no guardian on the subway) were jointly made by all 4 of my parents.
I love my parents but...
Sometimes they didn't always make the wisest decisions. Apologies in advance Mom, Dad, Stepmom & Stepdad - I'm going to tell about 5th grade.
Scrivener was talking about an event in his life which brought up this memory for me.
When I was in 5th grade my dad and stepmom lived in a house on the corner of Bergin and Carlton in Brooklyn. Beautiful house. The house that is my standard for beautiful houses. The wood panelling alone...
I had the turret room on top. (Pictures will appear later)
The problem was that the neighborhood wasn't all that great. I didn't really notice at the time, but the local bodega was probably a drug hang-out. There was a very busy police station 2 blocks down.
One Wednesday, I get home from school and let myself in. (Yes, I was a latch-key kid). My parents had decided that I was old enough to stay alone without a babysitter. This is 5th grade, so I'm what? 10? 11? Like I said. Not the best of decisions.
'Round about 4 o'clock, the doorbell rings. I turn off my Blondie Auto-American album, put down my book and galumph down-stairs to see who it is.
It's a woman I've never seen before, she's in a house-coat and she says "I'm the new cleaning woman. Your dad hired me to come today to clean for the party?"
Which actually sounded reasonable to me. We were between cleaning women...I hadn't known about the party but I assumed it must be for Saturday night, when I wouldn't be there. And this being my first day back in the house for the week, I thought they'd neglected to tell me.
So I showed her where the cleaning supplies were and the clean linens when she asked for them and went back to reading my book and listening to music.
And then she came to tell me she was leaving. She had a pillowcase stuffed with jewelry and things and she ripped the phone out of the wall and scared the crap outta me and left...
Whereupon I called my dad at his office and found out, actually was reminded, that he was in London all week and wouldn't be back until the following Monday.
At which point I felt completely stupid. And guilty. I should have remembered. I should never have let her in. I was a horrible, horrible person. And the worst part was that nothing she stole was mine. It all belonged to my dad, my stepmom, my sister. I was evil.
Then my stepmom came home and called the police (the phone was ripped out of the wall, but not disconnected) and we all spent the next few nights sleeping over at a friend's house. And my stepmom and sister chided me for letting in a stranger but agreed that her story was plausible and that they might have let her in, too.
After that, I had a babysitter again for a while. Very humiliating for me then. Now, I wish that I hadn't had that stretch of no sitter. And so do my parents.
Scrivener was talking about an event in his life which brought up this memory for me.
When I was in 5th grade my dad and stepmom lived in a house on the corner of Bergin and Carlton in Brooklyn. Beautiful house. The house that is my standard for beautiful houses. The wood panelling alone...
I had the turret room on top. (Pictures will appear later)
The problem was that the neighborhood wasn't all that great. I didn't really notice at the time, but the local bodega was probably a drug hang-out. There was a very busy police station 2 blocks down.
One Wednesday, I get home from school and let myself in. (Yes, I was a latch-key kid). My parents had decided that I was old enough to stay alone without a babysitter. This is 5th grade, so I'm what? 10? 11? Like I said. Not the best of decisions.
'Round about 4 o'clock, the doorbell rings. I turn off my Blondie Auto-American album, put down my book and galumph down-stairs to see who it is.
It's a woman I've never seen before, she's in a house-coat and she says "I'm the new cleaning woman. Your dad hired me to come today to clean for the party?"
Which actually sounded reasonable to me. We were between cleaning women...I hadn't known about the party but I assumed it must be for Saturday night, when I wouldn't be there. And this being my first day back in the house for the week, I thought they'd neglected to tell me.
So I showed her where the cleaning supplies were and the clean linens when she asked for them and went back to reading my book and listening to music.
And then she came to tell me she was leaving. She had a pillowcase stuffed with jewelry and things and she ripped the phone out of the wall and scared the crap outta me and left...
Whereupon I called my dad at his office and found out, actually was reminded, that he was in London all week and wouldn't be back until the following Monday.
At which point I felt completely stupid. And guilty. I should have remembered. I should never have let her in. I was a horrible, horrible person. And the worst part was that nothing she stole was mine. It all belonged to my dad, my stepmom, my sister. I was evil.
Then my stepmom came home and called the police (the phone was ripped out of the wall, but not disconnected) and we all spent the next few nights sleeping over at a friend's house. And my stepmom and sister chided me for letting in a stranger but agreed that her story was plausible and that they might have let her in, too.
After that, I had a babysitter again for a while. Very humiliating for me then. Now, I wish that I hadn't had that stretch of no sitter. And so do my parents.
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
Profgrrrrl's Cereal Meme
Which reminds me that I need to add Profgrrrrl to the links on the right...
Anyhoo, back to cereal:
When do you eat it and how often?: At least 3 mornings a week and very occasionally (once every other month or so) for dinner.
What are your favorite cereals: Currently Oatmeal (NOT instant or even 5-minute, but the real stuff), Kashi's Go-Lean Crunch, Honey Bunches of Oats (bought originally 'cause Costco was out of the Kashi), Cheerios in a pinch.
What kind will you not eat?: Grape Nuts. Mr. Spock and Muffin Man love 'em. Feh. Muffin Man like to eat a mix of whatever cold cereal I'm eating ("Mommy's Cereal") with Grape Nuts ("Daddy's Cereal"). Awwwwww.
What is the secret favorite that you don't always admit?: I have a nostalgic love for Apple Jacks and Cap'n Crunch.
What liquid do you pour on your cereal?: Skim milk.
What do you put on top of your cereal?: Brown sugar and occasionally raisins on Oatmeal. Cold cereal will get Strawberries/Bananas/Peaches/Nectarines depending on what, if anything, we have in the house.
Do you prefer cereal or other foods for breakfast?: My favorite is a sandwich I made up when I was in high school: The Jewish Egg McMuffin (non-kosher). Take one Bially/Bagel/English Muffin. Schmear with Cream Cheese w/ Chives (or plain cream cheese and sliced red onions), add some smoked whitefish or chubb (lox will do in a pinch, but it overwhelms the rest) and a fried (over-easy) egg. Have lots of napkins ready. Super yum.
Do you have any cereal-related rituals or other oddities?: I like it best when there is enough cereal so that you're not left with just milk in the bowl at the end.
Anyhoo, back to cereal:
When do you eat it and how often?: At least 3 mornings a week and very occasionally (once every other month or so) for dinner.
What are your favorite cereals: Currently Oatmeal (NOT instant or even 5-minute, but the real stuff), Kashi's Go-Lean Crunch, Honey Bunches of Oats (bought originally 'cause Costco was out of the Kashi), Cheerios in a pinch.
What kind will you not eat?: Grape Nuts. Mr. Spock and Muffin Man love 'em. Feh. Muffin Man like to eat a mix of whatever cold cereal I'm eating ("Mommy's Cereal") with Grape Nuts ("Daddy's Cereal"). Awwwwww.
What is the secret favorite that you don't always admit?: I have a nostalgic love for Apple Jacks and Cap'n Crunch.
What liquid do you pour on your cereal?: Skim milk.
What do you put on top of your cereal?: Brown sugar and occasionally raisins on Oatmeal. Cold cereal will get Strawberries/Bananas/Peaches/Nectarines depending on what, if anything, we have in the house.
Do you prefer cereal or other foods for breakfast?: My favorite is a sandwich I made up when I was in high school: The Jewish Egg McMuffin (non-kosher). Take one Bially/Bagel/English Muffin. Schmear with Cream Cheese w/ Chives (or plain cream cheese and sliced red onions), add some smoked whitefish or chubb (lox will do in a pinch, but it overwhelms the rest) and a fried (over-easy) egg. Have lots of napkins ready. Super yum.
Do you have any cereal-related rituals or other oddities?: I like it best when there is enough cereal so that you're not left with just milk in the bowl at the end.
TGIT
Muffin Man was in a MUCH better frame of mind today. Whew! He did say he didn't want to go to school (daycare) today, but once we got there he pushed me out the door with his usual glee so all must be right with his world.
Monday, May 23, 2005
Yep, it's a Monday.
Traffic was HORRENDOUS coming home and Muffin Man resembled an ice cream cone in a hot car in the summer.
Meltdown City.
Our normal 30 minute bedtime routine took about an hour due to breaks for kicking and screaming.
I am bushed.
I wish I weren't allergic to alchohol. Would one of you drink a martini for me?
Meltdown City.
Our normal 30 minute bedtime routine took about an hour due to breaks for kicking and screaming.
I am bushed.
I wish I weren't allergic to alchohol. Would one of you drink a martini for me?
Even if today were Tuesday, it'd still be a Monday
Muffin Man was not at his most cooperative this morning. Didn't want to get out of his jammies, didn't want to lie down for the diaper change (I knew there was a poop in there! Needless to say, the changing mat is in the wash.) Didn't want to get dressed. And then, when I was at my last straw, he wanted me to carry him down stairs.
Now, normally I would have. Today, however, he'd drained all my energy just getting him dressed. So I said "No. You tired me out and now you have to walk." And then, during his melt down, he tried to hit me.
So now we have to go into the guest room for some quiet time. "Do you want to tell me the rule?" "NO!" "Okay, then I'll just sit at my computer and not pay attention to you."
Two minutes later, a tug on my sleeve. "Are you ready to tell me the rule?" Nod. "What's the rule?" "No hitting." "That's right. No hitting. Are you ready to go downstairs?" "Will you carry me?"
Aarrrrrghhhhh!
"No, sweetie, I won't carry you. Do you want to go down first or do you want me to go down first?" "I want you to carry me!" "No. Do you want to be the engine or the caboose?" "The engine! Chuggachuggachuggachugga" Going downstairs happily.
After that everything was okay, but I was late to work and I'm still grumpy.
And to top it all off, it's supposed to rain cats and dogs during the evening rush.
Feh, feh, feh.
Now, normally I would have. Today, however, he'd drained all my energy just getting him dressed. So I said "No. You tired me out and now you have to walk." And then, during his melt down, he tried to hit me.
So now we have to go into the guest room for some quiet time. "Do you want to tell me the rule?" "NO!" "Okay, then I'll just sit at my computer and not pay attention to you."
Two minutes later, a tug on my sleeve. "Are you ready to tell me the rule?" Nod. "What's the rule?" "No hitting." "That's right. No hitting. Are you ready to go downstairs?" "Will you carry me?"
Aarrrrrghhhhh!
"No, sweetie, I won't carry you. Do you want to go down first or do you want me to go down first?" "I want you to carry me!" "No. Do you want to be the engine or the caboose?" "The engine! Chuggachuggachuggachugga" Going downstairs happily.
After that everything was okay, but I was late to work and I'm still grumpy.
And to top it all off, it's supposed to rain cats and dogs during the evening rush.
Feh, feh, feh.
Saturday, May 21, 2005
What happened to The Force?
Can the girl in this picture really have written this? Is it possible that someone who was Princess Leia for Halloween TWO YEARS in a row has not yet seen Revenge of the Sith, and will probably wait for it to come out on DVD. And even then, she will rent -- not buy?
Lucas, Lucas, what hath thou wrought?
The Original Muffin
A poem and the resulting comments over at Papernapkin reminded me of my late cat, the original Muffin.
We adopted Muffin as a kitten from the Brooklyn ASPCA when I was nine. My mom and I went into the kitten cage and this little skinny ball of fluff jumped right into my arms. From that moment, he was mine.
He was 8 weeks old when we got him, and he grew from a fluff-ball into a leggy teenager and then...
It was a few years before we realized he was a compulsive eater. We bought one of those dry food things that holds enough food for a week. We filled it up and went out to run some errands. When we got back, Muffin was passed out, face-down in the food bowl. There were three pieces of dry food left.
We once discovered that he had sneaked into a neighbor's house, beaten up their German Shepherd and was found eating his way to the bottom of the dog food bag.
He was a total lovey cat though. He looooooved to have his tummy rubbed (see picture). He would sleep next to me with his head on my pillow at night. When we came home he would come running for hugs and kisses.
By the time he was 3, he bore a pretty good likeness to the B. Kliban cats (which I would link to but their site is annoying. Phtttth.)
Friday, May 20, 2005
Children's Eyes Meme
No doubt about the color of his eyes. When he was born they were so dark, you couldn't see the pupil.
If only you could see the elephant ears he's wearing!
If only you could see the elephant ears he's wearing!
I'll never look at it the same way again
Read this post over at A Little Pregnant. Tell me if it doesn't change your shower shopping habits.
There's a blog I read...
But I can't tell you which one. Not because I want it to be a mystery type of a thing, but because the way I know about the blog is not typical. If any of you ever link to the blog I read, I'll be able to link to it saying, "I found this link on X's site" and that would be okay.
The blog whose name shall not be mentioned at this time is, like all the blogs linked to on the right, well-written. It is evocative. You are right there - seeing what the blogger sees, smelling aromas, and laughing out loud at the way the words are funny and true.
So...I hope one day one of you will link to it so that I can proclaim to the world, I Read This Blog Too.
The blog whose name shall not be mentioned at this time is, like all the blogs linked to on the right, well-written. It is evocative. You are right there - seeing what the blogger sees, smelling aromas, and laughing out loud at the way the words are funny and true.
So...I hope one day one of you will link to it so that I can proclaim to the world, I Read This Blog Too.
Surprise!
This is the continuation of a discussion over at Phantom Scribbler's:
When I was ten years old, I was a short kinda skinny kid. Clumsy, too. Skinned knees, the works. Would have been a tom-boy if I had any coordination whatsoever, or if I hadn't preferred to sit on the bleachers and read.
Anyways, one fine June morning when I was ten, I woke up and I got dressed and I went downstairs and my mom (to the best of my memory, I think it was my mom.) says, "We need to get your stuff ready for camp, so let's go shopping and..." (looking me over) "....hmmmm, maybe we should buy you a training bra."
Okay, no problem. A training bra. We got the cutest little pink-and-white striped Sassoon number (wait, which was the brand with the fingers making an "okay" symbol, Sassoon or Jordache? I think it was Sassoon.) And shorts and t-shirts and sweat-shirts and new sandals.
So I go to summer camp. And over the summer that cute little pink-and-white number gets smaller and smaller.
Anyways...I come back from summer camp and my mom hugs me and looks me over and says "We need to get your stuff ready for school and...hmmmm...looks like we need to get you a bigger bra."
C cup.
I went from nothing to C cup in 10 weeks. At age ten.
And all my life since then, if I gain any weight it goes there first and doesn't go away. I'm now almost to the point where JC Penney won't cut it as a supplier. I'm not quite there, but it's a close run thing.
Up until I quit the bookstore, I was 98 pounds (soaking wet, with long hair). HUGE breasts on a teeny-tiny body. Now, it's not so...obviously off the scale. But still....
Mr. Spock marvels at how comfortable I feel about my body and in particular, the somewhat alien creatures that have taken up residence up front. I think I can explain it thusly:
Everyone has one Biggest Physical Problem. For some, it's their weight; for others, some facial feature that they are unhappy with; or perhaps some actual illness or physical handicap.
For me, that Biggest Physical Problem has always been my height. Kids in my grade school called me a "personal leaning post" and rested their elbows on my head. You know the type of thing. I firmly believe that you cannot have two Biggest Physical Problems. So, my breasts are a HUGE part of me, but they aren't perceived by me as a problem. They might have been if I were 5'3", but I'm 4'11". I can't buy even petite clothes without having to hem them. I can't reach the pedals on most cars without having to turn off the airbag 'cause I'm so close to the steering wheel (Yay for the Kia Sedona! A car that fits both me and my husband!). I constantly have to ask for help getting things down from the shelves in grocery stores. I have trouble getting Muffin Man in and out of shopping carts.
You get the picture. So while I'm occasionally irritated by my breasts, mostly I find them amusing. And that's the way it will probably stay until I can no longer shop for them conveniently. At that point, they may very well become my one Biggest Physical Problem.
But I doubt it.
When I was ten years old, I was a short kinda skinny kid. Clumsy, too. Skinned knees, the works. Would have been a tom-boy if I had any coordination whatsoever, or if I hadn't preferred to sit on the bleachers and read.
Anyways, one fine June morning when I was ten, I woke up and I got dressed and I went downstairs and my mom (to the best of my memory, I think it was my mom.) says, "We need to get your stuff ready for camp, so let's go shopping and..." (looking me over) "....hmmmm, maybe we should buy you a training bra."
Okay, no problem. A training bra. We got the cutest little pink-and-white striped Sassoon number (wait, which was the brand with the fingers making an "okay" symbol, Sassoon or Jordache? I think it was Sassoon.) And shorts and t-shirts and sweat-shirts and new sandals.
So I go to summer camp. And over the summer that cute little pink-and-white number gets smaller and smaller.
Anyways...I come back from summer camp and my mom hugs me and looks me over and says "We need to get your stuff ready for school and...hmmmm...looks like we need to get you a bigger bra."
C cup.
I went from nothing to C cup in 10 weeks. At age ten.
And all my life since then, if I gain any weight it goes there first and doesn't go away. I'm now almost to the point where JC Penney won't cut it as a supplier. I'm not quite there, but it's a close run thing.
Up until I quit the bookstore, I was 98 pounds (soaking wet, with long hair). HUGE breasts on a teeny-tiny body. Now, it's not so...obviously off the scale. But still....
Mr. Spock marvels at how comfortable I feel about my body and in particular, the somewhat alien creatures that have taken up residence up front. I think I can explain it thusly:
Everyone has one Biggest Physical Problem. For some, it's their weight; for others, some facial feature that they are unhappy with; or perhaps some actual illness or physical handicap.
For me, that Biggest Physical Problem has always been my height. Kids in my grade school called me a "personal leaning post" and rested their elbows on my head. You know the type of thing. I firmly believe that you cannot have two Biggest Physical Problems. So, my breasts are a HUGE part of me, but they aren't perceived by me as a problem. They might have been if I were 5'3", but I'm 4'11". I can't buy even petite clothes without having to hem them. I can't reach the pedals on most cars without having to turn off the airbag 'cause I'm so close to the steering wheel (Yay for the Kia Sedona! A car that fits both me and my husband!). I constantly have to ask for help getting things down from the shelves in grocery stores. I have trouble getting Muffin Man in and out of shopping carts.
You get the picture. So while I'm occasionally irritated by my breasts, mostly I find them amusing. And that's the way it will probably stay until I can no longer shop for them conveniently. At that point, they may very well become my one Biggest Physical Problem.
But I doubt it.
Thursday, May 19, 2005
More Meeting Haiku
Why do you never
change the agenda for the
weekly staff meeting?
Have you never heard
of tracking action items?
What is up with that?
If it weren't for the
homily (changed weekly)
I'd think you lazy
No one wants a sermon
on their agenda. Really,
that's not what it's for
Pontificate on
your own time. Seriously,
your God isn't mine.
change the agenda for the
weekly staff meeting?
Have you never heard
of tracking action items?
What is up with that?
If it weren't for the
homily (changed weekly)
I'd think you lazy
No one wants a sermon
on their agenda. Really,
that's not what it's for
Pontificate on
your own time. Seriously,
your God isn't mine.
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