My lips are parched and shriveled (someone needs to invent lip caulk), my fingers are cracked and bleeding, even my nose is...well, let's just say that, besides the occasional bloody nose, there is no other "running" going on. In fact, in someone were to grab me by my honker, chances are pretty good that there would be some serious "shard" damage done.
But here's the captivating thing...my stretch marks...YES, I said stretch marks, all have their very own, individual peels! Not even kidding. They have inherited the hoarding gene, too, it seems. I'm kind of proud.
I would dare say the stretch mark situation is a gift from above~for being so delightful, probably~because Heavenly Father knows how much I love a good skin shucking~(not corn though, and that's important, because corn cobs have earwigs. Ew.)
Anyway, one of my most favorite memories is when Sterling went to the tanning clinic right before we were married. He was the poster child for The Farmer's Tan at the time, and just knew his beautiful bride (that would be me) would want her man sun-kissed and glowing for that all important first...presentation. (He didn't know that would be the furthest thing from my mind. At the first unveiling, I was fully engulfed with thoughts of self preservation~but that's another blog.)
To continue, Sterling has a rather, oh, shall we say~impatient nature~sometimes...and this was one of those sometimes that came back to burn him in the fanny...literally. (And just so you know, when I write literally, I don't mean the world's uneducated 'literally' that actually means 'figuratively,' as in "I will slap you into tomorrow~literally!" Yeah, no. Far as I know, time travel slapping isn't possible yet, so that would be a perfect example of 'figurative'~but anyway~) Back to literal speak. He decided that he was the one rare, sturdy individual who could handle a full 25 minutes on his first tanning clinic visit...and apparently there was no adult supervision there to save him from himself...so he did just that.
TWENTY FIVE FULL MINUTES, FOLKS.
WITH BRAND NEW BULBS.
The stripes would have made a barber shop pole proud.
So the weeks preceding our marriage were fun and fancy free~and filled with him laying down in the middle of the family room floor, baring his back and partial bum (no pre-nuptial nudity, folks, just a smidgen of crack) so that I could peel beautiful, long, satisfying strips of flesh, to my hearts content. An early wedding present from my impending groom. So thoughtful~it made me love him even more. (head tilt and heart pat)
Back to my stretch marks~and who doesn't want to hear more about them? Too bad. So I was jumping into the shower yesterday, scaling and scratching, when I happened to glance down at my protruding abdomen (yeah, like I could miss it.) Every single rip in my tissue had an independent dead skin border! Like they'd all been individually packaged, in their very own wrap, and now the paper was pulling away, ready for removal~like a gift!
As a result, I did what any self-aware woman would do...let's just say that chimps and all manner of monkey have nothing on me when it comes to grooming. I stood there for about a half hour~fully engrossed in picking and preening~my gut shoved out to almost full term proportion (another maternity reference...but NOT foreshadowing) and my chin resting on my chest. A beautiful sight, to be sure.
Sorry you all missed it.
In conclusion, I need a new vacuum, as I've clogged the filter several times trying to suck up the piles of dead dermis~a lovely term~and one that you're welcome to use whenever you see fit.
You're welcome. (another head tilt and heart pat)