villagers have more important jobs than raising my kids…

Remember back when I shared my New Year’s Goals? Just like 15 billion other people in the world, I decided to get my flabby ass back into shape. So far, so good. I joined a little club called Jazzercise (I know, I am laughing about that too. And yes, it still exists) and I’ve actually been going.

One of the necessary evils of exercise if you’re a woman of my stature is the sports bra. Sweet lord I hate the sports bra. I mean, I’m glad for it’s benefits and all. When one is a triple D (yes, my boobs come in 3D. ha.) the average sports bra doesn’t quite do the trick. The contraption I have is pretty much 20 layers of spandex and Lycra woven together into a stretchy vise of unprecedented contracting ability.

On the average day, it takes me five minutes to get the damn thing on. I’m not freaking joking. There’s pulling and tugging and tucking and adjusting and just an overall wrestling match between all my appendages. Then there’s the sweat factor. If it takes long enough for me to work up a sweat, it’s all over. I have to just lay on the bed and cool off so I can start over. Lycra + Sweat = No freaking way. I’m so tired by the time I get the thing on I don’t even need to go to Jazzercise. But, I do. Because I already went to all that trouble dammit!

The past couple of weeks, I’m proud to say, I have developed a little system and it’s getting easier. Until yesterday. Yesterday I was running a bit behind but I really just wanted to shower before I left for my class. (I know, why bother??) So, I corralled the kids around a movie and ran to the shower. Approximately four minutes later and ten minutes before my last daycare pick-up I was drying off and dressing for class. Approximately four minutes and thirty seconds later, I realized that showering and then immediately trying to put on the jaws of death in a steamy 3×3 room was the stupidest idea in the history of forever.

The kids (who were watching their movie in my attached bedroom) began knocking on the bathroom door. “Heeeeyyyy, whatcha dooooin in dere?” “What’s all dat bangin arrrouuuuund?” “Are you grrrruuuunting?” “Are you going pooooop?” Holy shitballs of fire, people. 😉 What on earth am I supposed to do here? A parent, a DAD no less, is going to be here in 7 minutes and I am stuck in my bathroom with yoga pants and a sports bra with a brood of curious children camped outside trying to look under the door.

I was sweating bullets in my steamy/sticky bathroom, water dripping out of my hair and causing my already tangled contraption to cement in a tight roll around my neck. It was like every fiber of spandex was trying to choke the life out of me so it could flee and find a B cup to guard. Finally, I decided I need more space. I call out to my daughter to take the kids to her bedroom so I could maneuver in my larger, COOLER bedroom.

Once the coast was clear I hopped, danced and stumbled around my bedroom to get the thing over my head. At one point I stopped to take a breath and realized my arms were pinned above my head in the “sleeves” and I was turning around in backward circles like a deranged dog chasing his invisible tail. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to laugh hysterically or cry.

Then, by some miracle of miracles I got the thing settled around my middle and pulled it up… to discover I had it on backwards. I considered just wearing it, but it’s a racer back and all it succeeded in doing was pushing my boobs out either side and providing an interesting decoration in the middle. (I know, I’m sorry for that visual.)

So, I pull it down, around my hips, turn it around and then tug it back up over my hips and up around my damn boobs. Finally. Then I collapsed on my bed and cried tears of joy and exhaustion and conceded the fact that this damn bra is too small. BUT, I am NOT going to buy a new one because it cost somewhere upwards of a hundred bucks and I am positive that in a few more weeks I’ll be able to fit into it. Right? YES RIGHT. Don’t even bother trying to disagree with me on this! Clearly, until then, I need a freaking crew of village idiots to get me into this thing.

I didn’t even bother taking it off last night. I showered in it and wore it to bed wet. I’ve resolved I am going to be one with this thing until I can get it off without turning blue. Or until it cracks a rib.

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13 thoughts on “villagers have more important jobs than raising my kids…

  1. LMAO! That was entirely too easy to visualize. Thanks for the laugh. Just so you know you don’t have to be in 3D 😉 to wrestle with those contraptions of satan- especially if you are STEAMY… which, of course, you ARE 🙂

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  3. Kel this was fantastic. Im sitting in a restaurant reading this by myself by the way and lmao! I was stressed out of my mind til I read this!!

  4. So funny, mostly because I can relate so well. I once had my seven year old daughter help pull me out of mine in the gym. I do have a suggestion for you, Enell sports bras, best support for biggers girls and very easy to get in and out of.:)

  5. Okay, were you in my bedroom? This happens to me with ‘regular’ sports bras! But it made for a great visual and a kick ass story.

    It was great to ‘meet’ you last night. If you ever want to stare at a buswreck, I’ve got a little blog going.

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  7. Good god the visual of you wearing the damn thing backwards is just too funny!! I always felt bad for the gals that had to wear not one, BUT TWO of those hellish contraptions. “Shields of faith” my ass…..

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