Hungarian Shot-Putter

I called my mom this morning as Henry and I were leaving to run some errands. 

I got her voicemail...what!?

I thought she just sat around, cell phone clutched in her hand, waiting for me to call.  Waiting to talk to me...her reason for being.

Nope, guess she's got a life. 

Who woulda thunk?

Piggy and I had to run to the mall, where I was hoping to find some black boots to wear with a dress for Henry's baptism.  Turns out my calfs are too girthy for any boot sold in the United States.  Maybe I'd have more luck in Europe.  As Karen, from Will & Grace would say, "I have the calves of a Hungarian shot-putter."

I also needed to look for some new bras.  I won't go into the horrific details of how my old bras no longer fit because my once decent looking human breasts have morphed into tiny, mole-hill like pancakes that I could probably tuck into my belt if need be. 

Well, I guess that pretty much sums it up.

So, my huge calfs and tiny boobs and I are going to go ring in the new year.  Maybe we'll stay up 'till 10.

Woot.