Step Away From The Custom Wheels...

Here's a little piece of advice, folks. There is no such thing as "rockin' your mini-van", unless you're referring to movement. You're no longer cool. You now belong to the club that I'm a part of: Old Age. Please don't put wheels, tinted windows, or mechanical devices that make your piece of shit bounce around from here to Kentucky Avenue...onto your mini-van.

P.S. The only exception to this rule really isn't an exception, it's called a VW Van. Period.

You're welcome.

Melted and Poured

Dear Friends,

Send some Spanx. Pronto.

Sincerely,
Muffin Top

Hurray for House Dresses

My mother gave me the most intriguing gift. I don't know if this thing is a pool cover-up, robe, housedress, or possibly a muumuu. I don't care. Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately), I don't wear it for looks. It's not very sexy because A. white's not my color, B. it's terry cloth or some other questionable material, and C. it has a pink flamingo on it (but if you say that fast enough, it doesn't seem that bad).

I'm rockin' this thing around the house, attempting to get ready. I forget that I'm wearing it and answer the door. It's my little ABA therapist, the new girl. Based on the expression on her face, I've scarred her for life. This is the same one who met me when I had my boob hanging out nursing Ayla.

I don't pretend to be cool, and I don't plan on aging 'gracefully'. I'm just way ahead of the times, that's all. One day, when I finish growing out my gray hair, I'll be hip. In the meantime, all I need now are some orthopedic shoes and support hose for the journey. A girl can always dream...