Monday, June 21, 2010
If I Was Beyonce, I'd Be Bootylicious....TIMES TEN
Today makes three weeks that I broke my friggin toes. And let me tell you something. Man, did I brake em' good!
They are still purple, green, and scabby. And they freakin hurt like a mofo.
But at least yesterday, for the first time in three weeks, I was finally able to put on a shoe. That is called progress, people.
So, when Hubby and I took my in-laws out for a lovely Father's Day lunch, I was still hobbling around, but at least I wasn't wearing my wretched geriatric foot ware:
I am hoping and praying that I'll be able to push progress a little further next week by being able to put on a sneaker because, DUDES! All of this immobility is making my damn ass even more bodacious-er (A.K.A. fatter than hell) than it already was.
For this reason, and this reason ONLY, I am really and truly missing Big George.
You remember him, right?
He's my treadmill and I used to call him "that piece of shit in the basement," but decided I might like him better and he might motivate me more if I named him after George Clooney, who is basically ONE of a very select few MEN that I would consider "offing" my family for:
Of course, it's not just my lack of mobility that's the culprit in my unfortunate ass expansion.
I am also to blame.
I don't know what happened.
It's like that stupid little voice in my head said to me, "You're hurt! You poor thing! Feed your soul! You'll feel better! You can worry about the size of your ass later! HAVE A FRIGGIN CANNOLI...OR TWENTY!"
God, that inner voice can be such a freakin whore sometimes.