This past weekend marked the beginning of the 'Ball Crawl' season in the southern hemisphere. For the next several months there will be a half dozen such events that may, and in some instances must, be attended. For me this means that not only will I be forced to eat banquet food, keep an even tan and do way more hair maintenance than I'm comfortable with but that I also must wedge myself into formal wear. Now, possibly due to the excessive use of biscuits (the cookie kind), scones (the biscuit kind) and iced coffee that is very refreshing and comes in 2 litre bottles, I seem to have outgrown, a wee bit, my very favorite black dress. Six weeks ago marked the beginning of panic mode. I took up kick boxing, jogging and green tea. I detoxed, low carb'd and weight watched. I purchased steel belted neck to knees 'slimming' underclothes. Once a week my daughter would follow me into the bedroom and try to look encouraging while she zipped me into my sparkly black dress. First to the waistline, then to the middle of my back, and finally all the way up. Aaahhh, I'd done it. Fit like a glove. And had I been able to breath I would have looked stunning. In the end I wore my silver dress, the one that makes me look like a disco ball (some of you may remember it.) Now I've gotta go because I have kick boxing tonight and my instructor, the former Ms. Tinyweight Boxing Champion of Europe (that might not be her exact title) saw me putting extra butter on my toast at coffee on Tuesday and is probably at this moment calculating how many push-ups it'll take to make me regret it. When I can lift my arms again I'm going to kick my husbands butt for letting me outgrow that sparkly black dress.....
If I die would someone please scatter my ashes through the heather in my Scotland??? I don't mind waiting until 2012...
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2 comments:
I know nothing about disco balls (other than those totally psychedelic orbs once danced under in a German dance club after a night of crazy table dancing...don't ask:). I do, however, know way too much about excrement balls. That's right: the shape of a baseball, thoughtfully deposited on the floor in the 30-second interval between diaper removal and diaper repositioning. Worse yet: other small person crashed an unsuspecting Hot Wheel into said excrement ball. Did I mention said ball came out of a tushy the size of an orange? How is such disproportionate excrementation (is that even a word?) possible? This is my life. Ponderous, man, really ponderous.
Ms. Ed-
I know for a fact that you look like a princess in that shiny gown!
Ms. Ro
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