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Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Reading, Clothing, Traveling, Crying

I’ve been reading, not writing, the last two weeks: mystery novels, primarily, but also Rick Riordan’s young adult Percy Jackson mythology adventure series. The mysteries have ranged from pure fluff (Laura Levine) to beautifully literary (Boris Akunin). I’ve also spent a lot of time in the gym (reading the books on the stairmaster, the elliptical machine and the stationary bike), which sweaty activity is evidenced by the stench emitted by my recycled exercise pants which I'm wearing one last trip to Gold's before tomorrow's planned trip to GA.

I’ve also broken down and realized that my clothes (including the exercise togs) are pretty worn, and so I went shopping. I hate shopping, except maybe for books. I realize that (despite the regular trips to the gym) I have Titianesque thighs, and the new fad of “skinny” pants, doesn’t, if you’ll pardon the pun, sit well on my figure. I found two pairs of slacks to fit my outsize posterior at Target but they were so large in the waist that I had to have them taken in by the seamstress at the local cleaners.

[Warning to my four male readers: possible TMI in this paragraph.] There was no hope in the underwear department. The lingerie section was full of push up bras with so much lift I was afraid my bosoms were going to explode upward out of the cups like rocket-propelled grenades. And there were thong panties and silly “boy shorts” everywhere. Whatever happened to normal women’s underwear? You know, the sort made out of your basic cotton and elastic that covered the acreage without trying to landscape it like a PGA golf course?

The library’s going to close in just a few minutes, so I need to finish up and go to Gold’s. I’m planning to spend Sunday through Wednesday at my Charleston brother’s with my mother, at the beach. Daddy’s will is being probated this Friday, and Mums says she's got too much paperwork to do to have a vacation, but I think it'l do us both good. I’ve been trying to use endorphins and fiction to buoy my sagging spirits, but I’m crying almost every night as I fall asleep, remembering Daddy. Thanks for your prayers.

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