Avoiding Crisis

ramblings of an insane person

with 2 comments

So, according to my brother, “the doctor” – which, by the way, is how I think I will refer to him from now on – my writings can be accurately described as the ramblings of an insane person.  You just got to love older siblings. 

On with my ramblings…

I’ve spent most of my day preparing for my daughter’s 4th birthday party that will take place tomorrow.  In between making all the necessary cakes (2 square, 2 round, and 5 cupcakes) to create one big castle cake (no joke), wrapping mini hot dogs with pre-made empanada dough to make the Argentine equivalent of pigs-in-a-blanket, baking brownies, cutting veggies, etc,  I came up with about a gazillion different ideas on what to write about.  And yet now, as I sit at my computer, staring at a blank screen, none of them seem all that interesting.  Now, two glasses of Malbec later, I’ve got the perfect topic:  cleavage.  Yes, you read that correctly, I did indeed write “cleavage.”  So the musings about why it is I can’t seem to stay at one job for more than 6 months (that is, when I was working), why I only work for complete assholes, psychos or incompetent fools,  why I may be the most under-achieving Barnard student that has ever existed, and why I think that my twin brother’s idea to learn spanish is the worst possible idea in the world, will just have to wait.  Because tonight I am going to discuss, drum roll please….cleavage.

Over the last year something interesting has happened. I’ve gotten into this trend of buying low cut shirts and dresses and push up bras.  For lack of a better way to describe it, I’ve become boob obsessed.  Now this is very interesting coming for me, the person who has hidden that which God has given her for so many years.  When I was a teenager I danced – ballet, tap, jazz – and it’s a widely know fact that dancers aren’t supposed to have boobs.  I also played field hockey and softball.  Sports bras were my best friends.  I got used to covering up my curves as opposed to flaunting them.   But something happened recently.  Maybe it’s the fact that I live in a city where fake boobs are everywhere.  Now we aren’t talking Pamela Anderson fake books.  Here in Buenos Aires it’s all about perfection, about having the perfect boobs as opposed to the biggest.  And as a result there is an awful lot of cleavage everywhere.  It’s kinda contagious.  Since I’ve been here, and since I’ve lost almost all the baby weight that I had put on while having my two children,  I have bought maybe a dozen very low cut shirts and at least 3 revealing dresses.  And of course the right (read cleavage enhancing) bra to wear under said clothing.  Mind you, this is all to my husband’s complete satisfaction.   And truth is…I’m loving it too.  I just wish I had realized earlier how much fun cleavage is, especially when you have it.  Sometimes getting older does have its advantages…you seem to become much more wiser, especially with regards to important things like cleavage.

So now I’m thinking…for my thirtieth birthday, maybe I’ll join the perfect boob club.

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Written by nicolemarie

January 17, 2007 at 10:41 pm

2 Responses

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  1. I’m glad you are getting to the truly important topics in life now 😉 Kudos to your cleavage.

    John

    January 20, 2007 at 4:13 pm

  2. What, no pictures?!

    Just kidding!

    Gram

    January 23, 2007 at 8:05 pm


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