Tank: Ann Taylor Loft/Goodwill ($1), Shorts: Gap/GW ($4), Shoes: GW ($3), Belt: GW ($1), Bag: GW ($2), Necklaces: gifts from my brother from Israel
TOTAL: $10 (An outfit + accessories for ten smackeroos…I’ll take it!)
So, I have the fact that my kids watched a knock-off of a knock-off of Alice in Wonderland—you know, the ones you get out of the bargain bin at Walmart that have a crudely drawn version of Alice in Wonderland, The Wizard of Oz, and 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea all on one handy-dandy disc—while I slaved away on my love letters bunting project for my other blog (is there a word for two-timing bloggers?…because I feel like such a cheater every time I mention my other blog…Oh! How about blogamist?!) + the fact that I was running really late for getting out the door to teach Body Combat (omigoodness, is this really still one sentence? wow) to thank for my title above.
Because I know that you were much more concerned with my title than anything else in this post, including the fact that I may never recover the use of my fingers after typing the above sentagraph (apparently, I’m all about inventing new words today).
You’ll be happy to know, however, that I squeaked in the door to teach a 4:30 class at—wait for it—4:28. Puh-lenty of time to spare.
Oh, and even though this post is already way too long and has very little (okay nothing) to do with clothes, I have to share a story:
As I was descending the stairs after teaching Body Combat, I met two of my married class participants coming up the stairs still huffing and puffing from their exertions kicking and punching their hearts out. Of course, the husband was also huffing and puffing because he was carrying a rather old child (maybe 8-years-old). I, being the dork that I am, made one of those annoyingly obvious, punny comments like, “Well, you’ve got your hands full!” and the wife said, “Yeah, it would be easier except that he’s got 14 stiches in his butt.”
My first two reactions were: 1) T.M.I. and then 2) WHAT? He just did an intense, 55-minute kickboxing class with stitches in his hindquarters?!! What a nut!
Of course, it wasn’t until I got home and told the story to my husband that he was able to unravel the mystery by saying, “Oh, so the kid he was carrying had just had stitches?”
Huge light-bulb moment, folks. HUGE.
I was genuinely relieved because I was worried about that guy, y’all!
So, the moral of the story? Always
bug regale your husband with tales from your work before you REtell them in blogland.
He might catch something you missed.
Shutting up now.