Anyway, the great bathing suit/exercise debacle of the PREVIOUS POST was followed by a ride on the Emotionally Menopausal Rollercoaster Of Shame.
The sweaty trauma train cruised through The Hopeless Tunnel of Youth, across Super Bitch Boulevard, up Hormone Hill, and ultimately stopped at Three Day Bender Station, in the city of Crocked. (Also known as my back yard)
I put on my best mu-mu, grabbed a cooler full of Corona, a vat of Pirate Rum Punch, and a couple of Willie's smoke-em-if-ya-got-em special cigs. I carefully plopped onto the new raft in the pool, and proceeded to drift, drink and mourn the loss of my once, greatest asset..., my ample, perky bosom.
Ok, ok, these babies have always been large and not exactly perky, but in my heyday, I never had a shortage of,
Fast forward to the great bathing suit debacle of 2015, and all of a sudden, my 'effin' tits have taken a fucking dive, and my godamn nipples now face due South! Also, the awesome new udder like shape my breasts have morphed into, could be mistaken for motherfucking bellybutton ears. Traitorous assholes!
It all gets a bit fuzzy after that because of the ugly crying, the buzz from the cigs, and imbibing until I was ha-aaaamm-ered.
My lucky neighbors got an extended peep show from hell, with bonus snoring, (and maybe farting, whatever, don't judge me!), included. Fan-fucking-tastic! The Home Owner's Association aught to love this one.
Note to self: Send booze, fruit baskets and cookies to all neighbors.
Best of all, however, are my southern-pointing bellybutton ears. They are fire engine red, have changed their name and are trying to get into the witness protection program.