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.

Modest is Hottest

It is finally warming up here in the land of never ending ice and wind, and the inevitable wardrobe hunt has begun. After swishing the hangers in my closet back and forth several times and realizing that something new (and preferrable cute) was not going to magically appear, I decided it was time to make a charitable contribution to my closet. My sweetie, Charming, offered to stay home with the girlies while I went shopping (he knows it's for his own good if he stays behind), so off I went.

Last week I had attempted to go Spring shopping, but just ended up buying all the $3 sweaters off the sale rack. I knew this week would be different, and I came home triumphant. I wound up with a couple pairs of shorts, and several tops appropriate for warm weather, not to mention a new pink dress I will be sporting some Sunday very soon (I just need to find the right shoes--any suggestions? or donations?). Later Charming took me out to dinner for my upcoming birthday (again, any donations?;) and we had a lovely time at a great little seafood restaurant.

Life is wonderful--isn't that what Spring is all about? I've been waiting and waiting for Spring like it's my birthday (and it is), and I think it has finally arrived. That means birds tweeting, children swinging, garden planting, walk taking, cute-outfit wearing, flowers blooming and other such twitter-patting nonsense.

On the downside--and unfortunately there is a downside--the sluts come out. I sincerely apologize if you are offended by my phrasology, but it is the pure and simple truth. Warm weather (and around here that means fifty degrees) brings out the sluts. Everywhere you go there they are, in their unflattering little shorts, and hoochie-mama tops. The short, the tall, the fat, the thin, the ugly, and even the would-have-been-beautiful-if-you-hadn't-been-wearing-that-slutty-outfit! I ask you, why do people feel the need to bare all when the thermometer gets a little heated? What could sleeves hurt? Or just a couple more inches on your skirt? Maybe it's just me (I highly doubt it), but these revealing clothes never do us justice--they're just too distracting, and I don't mean that in a good way. Too much skin is never flattering. So, I suppose there is a benefit after all to living in a place where it's Winter 7 months of the year--people have to wear sweaters.

Thank you for letting me "rant". I am aware, after spending four years at BYU and still seeing a few too many bums and bosoms, that my annoyances have no hope of going away. In the meantime I will put blinders on my husband and just tell my girls that those people were too poor to buy an entire outfit.