((Sigh))

My boob:

The radiation death ray:

The after effects- Like this:

Or this:

It feels a little like this:

But when I eat this:

Or this:

It all feels like this:

I will:

Laters.

I Can See Clearly Now

I found out Kev’s secret last night- despite all his blustering, despite all the mean things he’s said, despite putting them on top of his “all time hated teams” list, he really, deep down inside, likes the Yankees. He says he hates them to avoid saying how much he likes them. He likes to pull for the underdog and underdog is one phrase that can’t be matched with the Yankee’s payroll. Once it became clear to me, his endless cycle of yap and smack talking made much more sense. Otherwise, why would a grown man with two available thumbs to flip channels watch a team they detested for 4 ½ hours? The cold, hard, truth is this; Kev is a closet Yankee lover.


To understand it better, I equated it to my complaining about my soft tummy pooch while secretly liking it and thinking that concave bellies are way overrated. When I put it in perspective like that, it all made sense to me. I can see now that Kev has been using reverse psychology on me all these years. And now I know just what he really wants for Christmas. Laters.

A Fall List

Things I like about fall:


1. Apples

2. Pumpkins

3. Fires in the fireplace

4. Beautiful Foliage

5. Pumpkin Spice Lattes

6. Cozy boots

7. Flannel Sheets

8. Watching t.v. covered in a fuzzy blanket

9. Soups and stews

10. Thanksgiving

11. Lower utility bills

12. Christmas anticipation

13. Baking

14. Cardigans

15. Turning on the heater

16. Hot Chocolate

17. Hay Rides

18. Thermal Underwear

19. Finding last year’s cash in my coat pockets

20. Pie

Laters.

When Hairy Met Kevie

Often, it is the little things that bring the most joy. I have been known to bliss out over a small cup filled to the brim with coffee and frothed milk. Or how about a cupcake? Small, yet tasty and delicious-an instant, “oh yeah” moment. Life often rewards us with small chunks of delight, where we least expect them and I do appreciate that. I received one such small gift this week.


Now is the time of year where I start to feel like a frisky Shetland pony, growing its wooly, winter coat. The days are cooler and the need for the razor becomes less and less of a priority. I suffer (and I use that word in all seriousness) from appallingly sensitive skin, and summer’s rigid shaving requirements often have me feeling quite out of sorts with my irritated and bumpy armpits. As the sleeveless blouses and tank tops are replaced by longer sleeves and cardigans, my armpits and I both rejoice. In the fall and winter, I like to take a week or so between shaving to cultivate things in a more European fashion. No one sees it anyway with my toasty wardrobe. Iam a big fan of warm clothing.
I should interject here with the staunch and steadfast displeasure that this cool weather ritual brings to my hubby. Having lived in Europe for some time, he is a distinct non-fan of the au naturel look and to be frank, disgusted by it on many levels. His trauma started with a hot German girl on a crowed bus, him being 15, and a quick grab by standing hottie for the hand strap; flashing a hirsute underarm in his young and unsuspecting face. It was all downhill from there, as my abused and over shaven underarms can testify.
I have often tried ways to redirect his way of thinking, but he is pretty set on the matter. But then the ultimate bargaining chip fell directly into my lap, the proverbial gift from heaven, in the form of an info packet from the radiation oncologist on Wednesday, holding perhaps the best news in the world. The packet cautioned me that through out treatment, I should not shave my underarm. And just like that, my fall starting looking up. Way up. Laters.