A-B-C-D-DD

So, last Saturday Mz. KT and I visited Nordstroms for quality binding, er bonding, time. When Oprah tells you to get fitted for a bra, damnit, you do it. Right?

Before we actually talked to a store associate, we wandered through the land of lifted, separated and downright torturous instrument of cleavage. I have to tell you that some of those contraptions are freakin' ridiculously hilarious. Of course, we mocked them. Because, after all, what self-respecting woman would really wear something like this?

We agreed that only ugly chicks who want to think they're pretty would strap this thing on their boobs. Pretty women wouldn't even bother with a bra like this because they know they don't need it. But I digress.

So this lovely woman ushered us into the fitting room, whipped out her clothe tape measurer and wrapped it snuggly around my chest, pronouncing "38!"

Huh?!? Yep. 38.

After sizing up each side of my bosom, she stretched the tape measurer from the base of my left breast to the sadly downward-pointing nipple and exclaimed, "Double D."

No freakin' way was I a double D. Pre-op I was wearing a 48D. Then a 46D. Then a 44C. Finally, a 42 C as of late June. 38DD? Hell, no! I protested her error and explained about the rapid weightloss, the shrinking boobs, the sagging skin, blah, blah, blah. But she insisted she was right and convinced me to at least try one. Sure, whatever.

So her lovely assistant, Gordita, the 10-year-old, 25-pound Russian princess measuring a statuesque 7 feet tall served me with bra after bra after bra, all in an astonishing 38DD. And damn if everyone didn't fit!

Mz KT has just as much luck as me. Ninety minutes later we each walked out with simply detailed, utterly uplifting bras.


Who the hell needs plastic surgery when your breasts can look this good in a 38DD bra?

Go ahead, you can touch them.

Belated Celebration

I was in Des Plaines, IL this Friday for work, so at the end of the day I headed into Chicago for some quality time with my blog siblings, Mark and Katie.

Mark's birthday is the day before mine and Katie surprised us Saturday night with an impromptu birthday celebration after dinner out.

Suddenly, Katie appeared with flaming nipples on a plate, a unique presentation (to say the least) of decadent low-carb gooey chocolate cake.

Mark and I were delighted with our personal slabs of birthday heaven, each one carefully decorated with fresh raspberries. I ate half of the 3" square before the sweetness became too much.

But that wasn't all...we each received touching cards from Mz KT, specially selected for us.

Birthday princess for Mark...


And cutie pie for me.

Could it get any better? YES! Because inside each card was a coupon good for a day at Great America next summer, gastric bypass appropriate food and beverages included!


We were all quite happy to be together again.

The night was young...the day was long...and I need to unpack the digital camera so I can share the brawful experience Mz KT and I had at Nordstroms, as well as the depraved birthday celebration that followed the cake inhalation. Believe me, the pictures will be worth the wait!

Moving on...Moving in

I spent last night in the apartment. Tonight it's back at the house. And I guess that's why I was such a raving lunatic in yesterday's post about the poor fat kid and his parents.

I felt so out of sorts watching that show and I couldn't quite put my finger on it. But tonight, I get it.

I didn't want to be in that apartment. I wanted to be at the house. With Rose. Just like I had already moved out of the house in my head a few months ago, I've already mentally and emotionally moved out of the apartment.

I knew a couple weeks ago that I wanted to start to bring this separation to an end. And I knew that the end was a reconciliation. Once I set my mind on that, the ball hasn't stopped rolling.

We've agreed that I'll keep the apartment until the end of September, the end of my lease. But it's hard going back there. I don't want that separation anymore. I don't want nights to myself.

I've had enough time and space and freedom to think all I want about the transitions of my life in the last year. I pretty much know where I'm going with this whole weightloss thing. I know how to get there. I've got tools. I've got resources. I've got support. Now I just need my partner back, day in and day out.

The other night Rose suggested I start to bring some things back to the house if I want. It was like when we first started dating and she cleared a drawer in her dresser for me. Sweet, tentative, loaded with implications. Last night I packed up some things. Tonight they're tucked away in the house, back where they were in March.

The things are back, or will be soon. And I'll be physically living here again, full-time, in a matter of weeks. I just wonder if it will go back to the way it was between us. I want that comfortableness and familiarity, minus the complacency. I want it just like before, only very different. Just like me.