Plus, I've been saving it for "nice." That's what husband's mom always did~saved things for 'nice.' You'd use her bathroom and there would be eight threads left spanning a hand towel, and you'd think as you blew and waved your hands dry, "Hmm. Mom could use some new towels. I'll get her some for next gift giving occasion." So you did, and when she opened them, she'd hold them up and announce, "Oh, how lovely. We'll just save these for 'nice.'" Then she'd pry open the 'nice' drawer to shove the latest set~along with 50 years worth of fresh towels that had been buried alive. And you could swear you heard howls and shrieks as they shielded their terry cloth eyes from the glare of daylight, before the drawer slammed closed once again, only to be opened when the next set of 'nice' arrived at the funeral parlor.
Anyway, I've been saving this experience for 'nice.'
OK, so here's another clue...three words...P. A. P. One more word...smear. Doesn't that just conjure up good times? Such a pretty, pretty word combination.
Have you figured it out yet? No? You're not as bright as I thunk you were. OK, one more clue...and this is BY FAR the most distressing part...as it involves~(Jaws music in the background)...A MEDICAL SCALE!!!!! AS IN I WILL BE REQUIRED TO PLACE AAAALLLL OF MY 'NO I HAVEN'T TAKEN MY ABDOMINAL GIRTH SERIOUSLY' BODY ON THAT MEDICAL SCALE~WHICH IS OUT IN THE PUBLIC HALLWAY, SO YOU REALLY CAN'T STRIP DOWN TO BARE NAKEDNESS IN ORDER TO REMOVE THOSE EXTRA T-SHIRT OUNCES THAT REALLY, REALLY DO MATTER, FOLKS~BECAUSE APPARENTLY HALLWAY NUDITY IS 'FROWNED UPON.' AND ANYBODY CAN JUST WILLY NILLY WALK BY AND LOOK OVER THE NURSE'S SHOULDER TO WITNESS THE DEAFENING SOUND OF THE SCOOT and CLINK METAL FIFTY POUND INCREMENT BARS. AND SUCKING IN HAS ABSOLUTELY NO EFFECT ON THE FINAL WEIGH-IN NUMBERS. NOR DOES SQUEEEEEZING YOUR BUM CHEEKS TOGETHER OH SO TIGHTLY. AND YES, BUM CHEEKS CAN GET CHARLIE HORSES. JUST SAYIN'.
Feel sorry for me? Thank you. I would imagine they'll find cancer, or polyps, or an undiscovered pregnancy or something, which would totally serve me right for putting this off. And I have no excuses, except for cowardice. But really, if I'm being brutally honest, it's the "documented" part of that weigh-in, that makes me palpitate and upper lip sweat. It's on PAPER, people! INK on paper! See, I can lie to myself, but that da%$ scale is very, very discerning and can see right through my "big boned" and "that's muscle in my chins, and muscle weighs more than fat" lie. If the scale had an eyebrow, it would be lifted for my entire appointment. Sadly, my Dr. does, but she duct tapes it down while I'm there. Bless her heart.
Anyway, send an extra prayer my way, would you please? It's not for another three weeks, but I thought I'd burden you early with my angst.
I'm a Blog spider. So carry my spidery, smeary burden for me, won't you?