Wednesday, April 10, 2013

Midweek Confessions


Wow. It's been a long time since I've linked up with Elizabeth over at E, Myself and I for a weekly dose of Midweek Confessions, so one might think that I have much to confess. Which I do. I just can't remember all the unfortunate moments I've had lately. There have been far too many.

However, last night I had a moment with my husband, and I must confess, I was feeling a bit, shall we say, testy? Anyhow, he was eating barbecue chips straight from the bag, and I was so grievously offended by his caveman-ish, uncivilized ways. The rustle of the bag annoyed me, the crunching of the chips annoyed me, and the fact that he was not following proper etiquette annoyed me (p.s. you will not find a confession anywhere on this page on the number of times I have eaten chips straight from the bag).

"Are you hungry?!?" I snap at him.

"Uh-huh." Head nods. Chips continue to crunch.

"Then why don't you get the leftover chicken from the refrigerator??"

Evil stare directed at me.

"I don't need your help." More crunching.

My most haughty, lofty tone of voice: "I think you do!"

A turn of the heel, a swish of the ponytail--oh, yes, he had been told. I'm sure this positive interaction will have an effect on future behavior involving cavemen and chips.

In other news, I am teaching aerobics to a small group of ladies at a local church. I've been doing this for several years, but we've recently added a few new classes to our schedule. We may or may not be doing some songs typically done in a zumba class. This is was I think I look like when I am dancing:

I'm pretty hot, no?
The truth is, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror during class today, and the bottom picture might actually be a more accurate representation of me (I would probably be more like the girl on the bottom right):

My last confession of the day is this: now that it is spring, sometimes the weather calls for shorts. I love warm weather but hate wearing shorts. Why? Because my mother, may she rest in peace, gave me the pastiest white skin known to man. My father tans beautifully. He's like a tan god to me. I don't know many people paler than I am. My skin could literally blind you in the sun. Kids at school used to tease me all the time about how pale I am, like "Why are you so pale? Do you spend all your time in the library? hahaha!" Ha. Ha. Ha. That's, like, really funny, dude. (And by the way, enjoying a good book at the library has zero to do with how pale I am, thank you very much).  I don't tan. AT ALL. So I use self-tanner. All season long. So, yeah, I smell like self-tanner all spring, summer and part of fall. Yeah, my elbows, knees, ankles and the palms of my hands might be a litter darker than the rest of me. And, yeah, I might look at little like an oopma loompa.

But at least I'm tan.

Well...Sort of.

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