Warning: for the female readers; involves painful detail with regard to bra shopping.
The title of this post is in honor of Becca, who forced me to watch an episode of The Hills...which turned into two, then I think three episodes. It's kind of like a train wreck on top of a plane crash...so awful that you can't look away. Anyway, that's where I first heard reference to a "solo mish", apparently short for "solo mission". Today, I went on a solo mish to Target.
I learned so much today. I learned that you should never, ever go clothes shopping alone while pregnant, and that you should never, ever, for the love of all that is good and holy, go shopping alone for apparel that requires you to self-scrutinize while wearing anything less than full head-to-toe coverage. Oh, the depression. I knew things had been changing and shifting around but....I needed somebody there to cheer me up. I was trying sizes at which I had previously turned up my nose, and I still looked slightly lumpy.
And? I learned that women's clothing is sized by monkeys throwing poo at a number chart. I knew this about pants...men get a nice predictable "32 x 34", while we get sizes that fit differently depending on the store, the style, and the current zodiac sign. But bras, which seem so methodical and sensible. You'd think that a cup size would be a cup size, but nooooo....you finally find the magic number (36? 38?) that allows you to breathe adequately, and suddenly you could also smuggle a twelve-pack of Angel Soft to cushion the ladies. I finally settled on one and bought it, if only to burn it tonight at dusk.
I think I learned some other things as well but I'm too exhausted to remember. The main gist of it all was, "Oh, good heavens, no! My eyes! Cover it up, quick!" Thankfully I did the bra shopping first and was able to spend some time afterward looking at myself fully-clothed in some cute new tops. Joel, darling, I slightly overspent but I blame it on the trauma of bra shopping. I'm sure you understand....er, actually, take my word for it?
Quick, somebody, tell me how wonderful it is that I have a little baby growing inside me and the miracle of life and blah blah blah. I need a reality check!
This is why I don't watch The Hills. Or shop. I need to go eat something.
You gotta gain weight, so that you can loose it when the baby eats it up after you have the baby! Breastfeeding is magic ;-)
ReplyDeleteI think I wouldn't care nearly as much about getting bigger if I weren't still trying to be stealthy about it at work. As soon as I hear about a postdoc I will be much more open to announcing it and letting it all hang out :-).
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