Monday, December 15, 2008

Shit and Shopping.

There is NOTHING like waking up to a funky smell. If I was in a cartoon it would be like that green smoke wafting through to my nostrils and let me tell you, this smell would certainly singe nostrils hairs.
I should have woken up properly when The Garden Terrorist (aka my gorgeous dog) was restless and kept nudging my hand in the middle of the night. I just rolled over. Oh I'm so so sorry this morning. That smell woke me. I opened my sleepy eyes and out the corner of my eye I saw mounds of steamy diarroeah and vomit. The Garden Terrorist is not a small, lap dog (I've never been a fan of those that look like rats or are Paris H/handbag sized.) either. He is a monster of a dog who sleeps at the base of our bed. I wretched at the piles of shit all over the place. Oh and it's runny. Really runny.
Guess who has to clean it up? Me. My man had a plane to catch and acted like he had to rush, rush, rush.
I think I'll hang an air freshener around my nose, suck a breath mint and don gloves. Oh kill me.

Today I am going to do the thing that is dreaded by any woman who isn't a supermodel.
I could think of a few things I would rather do, like gargle with glass or perhaps I could stick toothpicks through my eyes balls.
Today I am going bikini shopping. Oh it pained me to type that. You have to try on swimwear. You just have to. But why do we have to try on swimwear in revolting, unflattering change rooms? Why oh why do stores do this to us? Revolting, bright light that shows every lump and bump and 101 mirrors so we can see ourselves in every angle. Awesome. Oh and my best? The bikini's sold as one. I can't handle that. I need a bigger top and a smaller bottom. Not both in one size. Oh no. Those beady eyed sales reps are there waiting for me.
"Sorry. You can't seperate them!" is normally whined at me.
To find one that fits and turns me into a Victoria Secret Goddess is well...I'm still looking.

I can hardly contain myself with the excitement. I now understand the purpose of the Hip Flask. I need to get sloshed so that I can drink myself pretty!

Below is the wish. Below that is most likely the reality. Kill me.


Wish me luck.

7 comments:

Tay said...

Oh hell that is a horrid way to wake up! Yuck! Hats off to you for cleaning it...

Good luck with the bikini shopping. I did it 2 weeks ago and am still emotionally scarred!

Kitty Cat said...

Sorry for the nasty wake up call...your dog seems to suffer with diarrhea quite a bit...shame.

And I also wonder why most bikini bottoms and tops don't come separate - my top is a size smaller than my bottom.

momcat said...

Been there and done that girl. I am the expert on bodily secretions!! Especially those emanating from kids (3) and animals (lost count). Retail therapy should definitely help with the aftereffects of having to do clean up the mess. I have found that a specialist dancing costume shop will usually also have swimming costumes and you can often buy tops and bottoms in different sizes.

Being Brazen said...

ewww, ikky way to wake up.

Goodd luck bikini shopping - im sure it will better than you think ;)

Miss T said...

What a hell of a way to wake up!!!!shame man!

Garron said...

aargh what a wake up call. That is disgusting.

As to the bikinis, I hate those cubicle lights too. In fact I often avoid trying stuff on and just hoping it will fit. It hardly ever works :)

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