i had the pleasure (?) of doing some pretty heavy manual labour yesterday, my muscles were sore, "cramps" had kicked in, and i was operating on 3 hours of sleep from the night before, so once i was clean and in 'curl up for a pillow drooling nap' mode, the phone rang. i was being summonsed to go sit outside and drink margaritas and people watch. napping won out. "but it's melinderrs final exam before she graduates, you have to come and celebrate". shit. guilt works. every. bloody. time.
the margarita was perfect, the levels in my salty glass decreased in direct proportion to an increase in cackling and nose snorting. the 'three dysfunctional amigos' decided to take a jaunt to the mall, where, as any male worth his y chromosome can attest to, any expedition to retail hell should be undertaken under the influence of alcohol. it was at this time, that i (and any female worthy of her x chromosome), recognized the 'oh, shit, i feel a dampness in my trousers, and not the good kind. shit, why did i wear light coloured bottoms?' this is the true and universal reason why women wear so much black, not to make their rear ends minimize. i opted for my baseline; ignore the problem and find a distraction. we went on to pose, pout and pucker for the camera phone in every derby and easter hat we could possibly get our hands on.
thank god (and my mother) for teaching me to let guilt rule.