BATTLE OF THE BATHTUB (NOT TO BE CONFUSED WITH THE BATTLE OF THE BULGE WHICH I ALSO STRUGGLE WITH)

It sits….taunting me.  In all of it’s shining glory.  Teasing me with visions of how it could be between us.  Tempting me with thoughts of bubbles and candlelit nights, sipping cold, dark red adult grape juice.  Zen type music softly playing on the Bose.  All the cares of my life slipping away in chest-deep water (which isn’t hard to do since my chest is a lot lower that it ever was).   I know it’s song is a lie.  I still have the aches and pains from our first tryst.  I try not to listen to it’s siren call for I know it is evil and will do harm to me if I give in.

But it is not the only entity in my bathroom.  My shower has taken on an attitude of it’s own.  Can you spot the smugness in it’s glassy look?It’s smug face reminds me that I will have to use it if I don’t wish to stinketh.  Once again I will subject myself to it’s claustrophobic belly and odd smell.  It will assail me with daggers of ice cold water when I turn it on and then scald me before I can adjust the one-armed demon.  It will laugh it’s hollow laugh, when I drop the soap and struggle to bend over without hitting parts of me along it’s angled bones. It conspires with the metal basket full of scrubs and soaps and razors to suddenly drop from the side of the shower wall and nail me on the head and cause my heart to momentarily stop at the randomness of the assault.  And it will claim victory when I can no longer stand it and have to bail out not completely finished with my “toilette”.

If that wasn’t cruel enough even the small tools of the “toilette” mock me.  My safety razor has taken on a demeanor of a gigolo sunning himself at a pool in the South of France.  Can you see his arm thrown back and his long, lean body just laying there thinking, “Ah zee ze fat womanz….ze thinkz I am going to shave zee legz but ze iz wrong.”And my electric razor is giddy with delight since he knows I must go back to his cutting ways since I can not manage to shave both sides of my legs in either demonic torture chambers.  He buzzes with anticipation of our next session.  He is tightening up his coils as I type, ready and waiting to cut me and give me his famous razor burn thighs.  He has a hellish metallic laugh.  Somewhat on the maniac scale. Notice his face…. does it not have the look of a crazed monster?

So here I sit.  Held hostage by my bathroom appliances.  If I want to go anywhere, which is the worse of two evils?  Do I want to go into the Shower of Horror or do I want to chance being like President Taft who (as legend goes) got stuck in his claw foot tub because of his great girth and had to be rescued?Or be publicly humiliated on the 6 and 10 news casts as this poor woman was when she had to be rescued by emergency personnel.  (You can tell this really isn’t me by her hair color…I wouldn’t be caught dead in that color!)I need to grow either more arms (so I can spread the force needed to hoist my buttocks out of the tub)Or get a tub like this…..But since I would be terrified of getting locked in there and the water rising above my head, I doubt very much that this is a viable option.

I guess I will have to give it more thought and load up on sponges and wet wipes or just stay home rotting until I get it figured out.  Stay tuned.  You just know I will share it with you all!!!

Queen’s Question for Today….are you a tub person or a shower person and can you share a funny/scary experience using it????   I can not really be the only person in the world who has adventures in their own bathrooms?

Your Queen who is on her way to looking like a Yeti……

JUNK IN MY TRUNK OR I GOT ME SOME JIGGLE IN MY WIGGLE

Here I sit on a gorgeous summer day blogging when most folks would be outside enjoying this fine day.  In my defense, I did work all night and by all rights I should be in bed cause I am babysitting the grands tonight and need my rest but I felt a blog coming on and you know how that is, hold it in and you get “blogapation”!

I was sittin’ here eatin’ my beans and franks thinkin’ about fashion and visual role models and I got to wondering which model type do most human beings find alluring?  I just watched an Oprah special on the Kardashians and dang, say what you will about them but that Kim is sure a looker!  That got me to thinking when did we start to worship the Gywneth Paltrow’s and Kate Moss’s and those scary Olsen twins as the figure to aspire to?  Think back to the glory days of film and the posters of the most desirable women and there wasn’t a stick figure among them.  Jayne Mansfield, Marilyn, Rita, Betty Grable, Ava, Rosiland….those ladies had luscious booties and curvy figures and men went crazy over them.  I would love to see a study done where you line up gorgeous women of all sizes and then have men of all races, creeds and economic classes rate them on how desirable they are to them and see who is the most popular.  I wouldn’t use celebrities as they are so enhanced or altered but real life attractive women (as much as I hate that, you gotta be realistic. ) Then I would do the same test using women as the raters and see how different the results would be.  I think most women are brainwashed into thinking thin is better.  Not me.  I think the most gorgeous women on the planet are JLo, Fergie, Rhianna (whose first name is Robyn, honestly), Selma H, Adele and Kim Kardashian.    Who are your most gorgeous women (looks only, personality doesn’t matter in this game!).  Inquiring minds want to know!

EVERY WOMAN’S NIGHTMARE: THE DRESSING ROOM

I rarely ever go to a store to shop for clothes.  I can tell myself it’s because I don’t want to drive there, I don’t want to look for a place to park, I don’t have the time/money, it’s too cold/too hot, but you really know why I don’t go into stores, don’t you?  It’s those dreaded dressing rooms!

Because I don’t shop in stores for clothing, by the time I am almost naked and have to take that walk down those aisles of shame, I have way more clothes than you are allowed to take into a dressing room.  Now here is problem number 1:  Do I cheat and bring in all the clothes?  What if I get caught?  Will they think I am attempting to shop lift?  (Seriously, how many layers of clothes can a fat woman put on before looking like a circus side show freak, so that is probably not an issue).  Or do I follow the dressing room code of honor and bring in only the allotted number?  And since I always shop alone (very few people can shop with me as I am known to look at everything…remember tho, this is a rarity for me so as long as I am out at a store, I’m gonna check everything out!), I have no buddy waiting outside the door to slip me more clothes as I try on and ultimately discard, my allotted number of items.  So that means that I have to get re-dressed and leave my room/stall and go and get the other items waiting outside the dressing room, cause you can’t bring your cart in the dressing room area.  Personally, I have never heard of someone trying to sneak a cart out of the store under their clothes, but it must have happened somewhere.   This brings up to problem number 2:  do I leave anything in the dressing room so it looks like someone is still using it and if so, what to leave?  Purse?  Not unless you like to give your stuff away.  Shoes? Not if you like them or aren’t planning on buying another pair in the same store.(Ah, but that brings up another question.  If your shoes are stolen while you are trying something on, and you have to walk around without shoes, can they still refuse you service?  No shoes, no shirt, no service.) If you leave a piece of clothing that you had tried on , that still counts as 1 item so you will only be able to bring back less than the first time.  Or do you live dangerously and run to your cart and hope no one gets your room before you get back.  Problem number 3: Remembering which dressing room was yours.  They all look alike and most have self-closing doors so there you are, standing out in the hall, wondering how you can be so dang dumb as to not remember what room you just came out of.  Worse yet, is when you need to see a panoramic view of your butt (cause you all know it’s the first thing we look at when we try something on….even a bra) and you come out of your room and walk down to the end where the big 3-way mirror is (just makes my day even better to see my large butt in three different views).  Oh, and have you ever had on your mumu sized outfit and Miss  “Does this size TWO make me look fat”? come and stand next to you with her equally tiny friend who are both horrified that someone could let themselves “go” like that.  And hell on earth is when you both have on the same clothes.  It Has Happened To Me and it wasn’t pretty.  You flee blindly to the safety of your room and of course, the door you fling open has another Barbie doll standing in it, partially dressed, and she shrieks and grabs the door to slam it in your already deep red face.  So now you are faced with yet another dilemma.  Do you open doors at random, or do you get down and look under the doors (if you can) to see if you see your shoes or purse.  Then fear hits you like a dagger to the heart….you left your purse in the room and what if someone came in and took it?  Now sweat is running down your face, down into your ample cleavage and you are starting to hyperventilate.  GOT….TO…FIND….ROOM….you have gone from embarrassment to panic in ten seconds or less.  You no longer care who is behind those doors and you start flinging them open, not even looking at the person in them, all you care about is seeing your purse.  Finally!!!  There it is!!! Safe and sound.  But just to make sure, you open it and check you money and credit cards….all safe.  You are so happy you could cry.  The hell with clothes, you think.  This just isn’t worth it.  Maybe you can decorate your sweats with some rhinestones for that wedding….like Betty White on “Hot In Cleveland”.  Dejected, hot , sticky and frazzled,  you start to take off the mumu sized clothes.  But wait…..yes, it was a tad difficult to get them on but what new fresh hell is this? They aren’t coming off.   Somehow they seem to have shrunk.  New rivers of water are pouring down from your head and armpits and even your hips and legs are moist from all the emotions you have just been through.  You start to panic.  The postage stamp-sized room is getting smalller and hotter.  You manage to get the top up around your elbows and neck and over your head but it is stuck on your boobs and now you really are in deep doodoo.  There is no one to help you get out of this straightjacket and you are starting to feel a scream rise up in your throat.  The only thing that stops you from hysteria is the knowledge of the condition of your undergarments and you would rather die than to have people see the dingy color and the stretched out elastic  and the honkin’ big safety pin holding up  your bra.  Problem number 3:  Do you try to calmly wriggle out of this piece of clothing that is suffocating you like a giant boa constrictor or do you say the heck with this crap and rip the thing off  not caring about the condition of the offending garment once it is off?  I must confess to both.  Sometimes the sheer panic of being stuck in a hot coffin with layers of clothing wrapped around my face is too overwhelming and I tear that piece off like Adam Levin ripping off his shirt during a concert.  Freedom at last!!!!  The sight that you see in the mirror is enough to scare any one.  Your hair is standing up all which ways, your eye make-up is smudged, your lipstick has blurred from being rubbed off inside that death cloth and your face is puffy and red and shiny.  You try to do some damage control so you don’t look like the lead singer from “Twisted Sister” (who, by the way, is now doing commercials for Stanley Steamers….so sad…give it up, Dee) and then are faced with the last problem:  do you just leave all those clothes in the room and escape or do you do the right thing and put them either on the rack outside the dressing area or back where you got them?  I want to hear comments on this!!!!!! Tell us your worst dressing room horror story.