ATTENTION ATTENTION

To all males 19 years of age and older: Please take a good long look at this girl, my sister, named Mary Olivia. Alias: Livvy

Now as you wipe the drool off your face, please note that this girl is just that: a little girl. Not a woman or a "young single adult" or even a Laurel. She is but 15 years of age, and although of mature mind and body, she is too young for you.

So yes, I understand that she's the cutest girl at the party--of course she is, she's had 4 older sisters to teach her the arts of full-blown femininity and womanly wiles. I understand she looks and behaves sophisticated (although I doubt she even knows what that word means), and she's just the kind of girl who would charm you with her infectious laugh and that your mother would adore. I also understand that she is virtuous, lovely, of good report, and praiseworthy--but please don't seek after her until after her 18th birthday, which will occur January 2012.

It would be worth the wait. But until then STOP HITTING ON HER. It's getting a bit ridiculous.

That is all.

Please don't be offended just because I have weird dreams. Put your scoffing to good use and give me a reason!

I tossed and turned last night in bed, lost in one of those awful dreams where you can't accomplish your purpose. You know--like when you want to run away and you're stuck, or you need to dial 911 and you just can't seem to get the sequence right. Well last night my plight of pity was bra shopping and trying desperately to find the right size.

I remember pilfering feverishly through racks and racks of all different types of bras, finally narrowing them down to a nice white padded bra. But oh dear me I couldn't find my size! They had every size imaginable of this particular bra except for mine. I was throwing stuff off shelves when finally the sales lady came to give me a hand and asked if she could measure me. (I'm used to this sort of awesome treatment because, and here's a confession--I only bra shop at Victoria's Secret. Makes a girl feel nice, inside and out. Ah-hem. Moving on.) I lifted up my arms obediently and rolled my eyes like "Again! You'd think a girl would know her bra size." But then the most amazing thing happened. The sales clerk/brazier measurer expert royally dubbed me a 32 D.

So. Happy.

I had officially gone from average circumference and volume to trim and well-endowed! Needless to say there were plenty of bras in that size around the store, and many on clearance--because, let's face it, not very many people are blessed with my figure. (And after nursing two babies too!)

So what does all this mean? I vote for meaningless, but I bet you could come up with something much better than that, probably a horrific background story involving my adolescence and a date gone wrong. Let me know what you come up with.

On a related note, here's a big bra for you:


Also one more thing to destroy your day: Whenever you hear the beautiful classic song Edelweiss from The Sound of Music, think of your bra. It'll put a smile to your face and ruin that special song for you forever!

That is all.