Static Cling & Chubby Girls

Well ladies, the weather is getting cooler and that can only mean one thing: static cling!  This seasonal horror is twice as nasty for chubby girls; big girls just seem to produce more static than skinny girls. We must carry the economy size Static Guard in our purses to battle this demon.

Chubby girls do not like to show their curves and static cling enhances the bumps and rolls that we try so hard to hide. There is nothing more embarrassing than getting out of your car and walking into a building with your skirt clinging above your granny panties, especially if you only shave to just above the knees.  The damned skirt will not pull down because the static lifts it again with each move of the arms and legs. This phenomenon only occurs in crowds, which leads me to believe that skinny women throw off some sort of static energy that attaches itself to the largest warm female in a room.

Static turns a nice hair cut into zombie mode. Large girls usually have nice hair because it is easier to manage than losing weight. I like to rub my hair with a lavender scented dryer sheet before styling. I believe there is just something more loveable about a chubby girl with nice hair and the sweet aroma of lavender!

Although it can produce moments of personal pleasure, it is not planned for the thighs of a large woman to throw sparks as she walks across a room.

I recently read an article of helpful hints that said that a safety pin in the hem of clothing will keep static cling away. This is soooo bogus!  You will never find a hefty gal without half a dozen safety pins on her, somewhere, holding elastic together or giving an extra inch where the button and the button hole refuse to meet. These gals still have the static cling problems! I bet a skinny woman wrote that helpless hint. 

To sum it up…the scourge of the season is upon us. Static Guard will sell well because the big girls of the world have budgeted for the extra weekly expense. What a shame it does not come in a nice lavender scent.

The Highways of My Life

When I was a kid it took forever to make a trip from Fort Worth to my maternal Grandmother’s house in Garland.  I guess I was about eight years old when the Dallas / Fort Worth Turnpike, now Highway 30, opened and the trip was much easier. There was not much traffic. On one of our first trips we had a flat and a courtesy truck quickly arrived to help us out. I have not seen a courtesy truck in years.

I was also very young when Highway 35 North opened. It made the trip to Gainesville, to my Granny Lemons house, much quicker. There was no traffic and the scenery was basically trees and pastures between north Fort Worth and Gainesville. On the way back I watched the horizon for the Saginaw feed mills; it was an indicator that I was almost home.

When I was still in elementary school Loop 820 opened. There was not much traffic. The loop around Fort Worth was a great idea until too much was squeezed inside the loop.

When I was in high school the Airport Freeway began to open. It was still under construction as they built the DFW Airport, and yet, there was not much traffic.  Highway 183 changed to Highway 10, in places, and Airport Freeway. I am still confused.

At the end of my senior high school year Highway 635 opened. So many lanes and no traffic!

All of these highways are like my life. There were many new roads with a flat or two along the way, but the new roads made life travel more quickly. Traffic began to build as the years passed. I developed some potholes, could use a little resurfacing, and my shoulders slope a little bit.  Every now and then I suddenly dip when I do not expect it and I need some bridge work.  Detours taken have gotten me lost and I’ve had to turn around and start over several times. I am reluctant to enter the on ramps and often miss the off ramps. Too much is squeezed inside my loop. I still look for the Saginaw feed mills to know that I am almost home. My median is wider and new lanes have been added.  I pass with caution.

Time, like a highway, changes, stalls, backs up, detours, stops, speeds up, and then slows down again. When…Oh, crap! I just noticed that I have had my turn signal on for the past ten years! Damn.

The Scary Blind Date

Have you ever been on a blind date? No, not the kind with a seeing eye dog, but a date that a friend (who usually ends up as a former friend) has set up for you because they think they have found the perfect mate for you? (Pam, if you are reading this it is not about the many that you set me up with. Those were not dates. I consider them practical jokes.)

This is a true story without embellishment – does not need any.  The names were not changed to protect the innocent. I do not remember who set up this date. It is said that when you have a traumatic experience you tend to forget much of it.  All I remember about the name of the date is that his last name was Lynn. He was a former neighbor and I vaguely remember his younger sister who was a few years ahead of me in school. Our planned date was for dinner out and a Casa Manana play.

He arrived about half an hour late and looked frazzled. He said he had lost his car keys and was driving his old farm truck. I told him I knew about farm trucks and did not mind riding in one.  I was wrong.

The year of this date was somewhere around 1975. The truck was about 25 years old at that time, white in places, and had demolition derby characteristics. Not so bad, huh? Oh…but wait! The passenger side door panel had been removed in order for a rope to be looped through part of the door frame. The other end of the rope was tied to the steering wheel. This rigging was to hold the door closed, and I assumed, attached to the rest of the truck. I reluctantly climbed in the driver side door. Dinner was involved. I was hungry.  Farm Truck Lynn instructed me to hold the rope, tightly, as he removed one end of it from the steering wheel, so that he could drive. I asked him what he did when he was driving alone and he said he tied it to his seat belt. At this point I should have just said, “Let’s do this some other time,” but I did not, I was determined to enjoy dinner and a play. I was optimistic, or just stupid.

Do you remember the Bonanza Steak Houses? They were the blue collar cafeteria style steak houses that catered mainly to the lunch crowds, older folks, young families, and were inexpensive. Farm Truck Lynn had a 2-for-1 coupon. 

At Casa Manana we were informed there was a delay due to a stage malfunction. The stage at Casa Manana was rotund and rotated during plays.  I do not remember the play we were there to see (trauma forgetfulness). The delay was long enough that I had to go pee twice, so it must have been about an hour wait.  The play started and about forty-five minutes into it the stage blew a fuse, or a hundred thousand, and the show was cancelled.  Farm Truck Lynn was disappointed but I was not; the theme from the TV show Bonanza had begun galloping through my stomach and I was ready to go home. 

It was about eleven o’clock when we pulled into my apartment parking lot and the rope burn on my right hand was beginning to sting. Farm Truck Lynn turned off the truck engine, placed both hands on the steering wheel, bowed his head and said, “Lord, please forgive me for what I am about to do.”

This was probably the first time, maybe the only time, that I was not a typical dumb blonde.  I dropped the rope, kicked open the door and ran for the hills. I did not look back to see if the truck door stayed attached. I made it inside my apartment and bolted the door. He banged on my door for awhile and said he just needed a drink. I hollered to go home to get it. After a few minutes the elderly man living next door opened his door and said, “Son, I think it’s time you go on home. Now.”  Farm Truck Lynn left.  I never heard from him again but always kept a close watch out for his truck while I lived in that apartment.

I had one more blind date that was a bad one where I was not able to get home as quickly as I wanted. (Pam, this one was the last one of your practical jokes.)  To this day, I will meet a first time date at our destination so that I know I have safe transportation home when I am ready to go home. I do not worry about them following me home because I cannot see to drive at night and I get lost a lot. A twenty minute drive can take two hours to complete. It is also probably why I very seldom have a second date. Damn.

Undesirable Husband Prospects

Sometimes us old, single, women will think about looking for a husband. Tonight, I thought about it after reading a book about a group of older women who finally found the men of their dreams. They knew what they wanted and set out to find their guys.  I began to wonder what kind of man I would want to pursue if I were to start looking around. I could not come up with anything other than someone who would mow the yard.  As it often does, my mind wandered (okay, guttered) and I began thinking of the professions, or hobbies, of men and how this could relate to the time in the bedroom. Here are some professions I find undesirable as husband prospects:

Pro Bowler.  A thumb placement that was not expected, and highly unappreciated, could lead to jail time if you beat the living crap out of him afterwards. 

Pro Golfer.  There are moments prior to sexual coupling that a woman enjoys. Yelling FORE and then swinging for a hole in one are not the moments we are looking for.

Shoe Salesman.  This is sad. After fooling around once, the pillow talk involved the words, “You have nice feet for a woman your age.”  These are not the pillow talk words an older woman wants, or expects, to hear immediately after having sex. There are times when a whopper of a lie is preferable and acceptable!

Race Car Enthusiast.  These guys probably arrive fast, make a pit stop and leave in a hurry. Be wary of skid marks.

Football Coach.  The whistle blowing would probably get on your nerves eventually.

Used Car Salesman.  A swift quick kick in your spare tire to check you for stability might create a blow out, or a leak, that would definitely kill the mood.

Oil Change Franchise owner.  I made myself laugh out loud thinking about this one, but I can’t make myself type what I thought was so funny.

Computer programmer.   These guys expect unrestricted access and when they talk in their sleep you will never understand what they are talking about. Ctrl Alt Delete.

Political Advisor.  Oh, HELL NO! You should never date a political advisor. Immediately shoot him. If he happens to be a Democrat shoot yourself, too, because your mama has already changed her will and you needed the money.

Damn. This list could go on forever. I think I will just get another cat. 

Cleavage: Surprise!

Women who are blessed with ample bosoms are also blessed with cleavage. Having cleavage

is comparable to having a second purse, only without zippers, snaps or Velcro. The last time I

went to a casino I did not want to worry about someone stealing my purse and I was able to place

my wallet, a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, a tube of lipstick, a small mirror, and my phone in my

cleavage. Although I lost my shirt at the slot machines I did not lose a purse containing any of the

aforementioned items.  Losing a $40 tube of lipstick when a purse is stolen can be very painful. 

Having cleavage also enables a person to have a surprise every evening when removing the torture

device known as ‘the bra’. Today, I found a cricket in mine. It was no longer among the living,

I do not know how it got there or how long it had been there, but I was surprised to find it.  I have

found popcorn, supposedly lost earrings, Cheerios, peanuts, pencils and pens, leaves, a pacifier

(this one is kind of ironic), and among various other items, a couple of acorns. The acorns were

from walking along a sidewalk near someone mowing under an oak tree. Surprise!

My little dog, Sophie, likes to hover at my feet while I undress. She is always on the look out for a

sudden snack. She was not impressed with the cricket.

My most memorable surprise was when reaching for something and accidentally boob-friction-

flicked my Bic lighter while it was nestled. Whoa! THAT was a huge surprise! Fortunately, I no

longer have to worry about chin hair. The most expensive surprise was when I forgot I had stashed

my phone, removed my bra, and when everything sprang forth the phone jumped into the toilet. I no

 longer undress anywhere near water.

The most disappointing surprise of having cleavage is how far everything falls when freed from the

bra. It does pull out a few wrinkles from the neck up, though.  I cannot, however, prove the wrinkle

removing comment without getting fired, or arrested, since the only people I am ever around are at

the office, the gas station, or the Dollar Store. (I really need to widen my social circle. Maybe I

should go to Wal-Mart tomorrow.)

Yep, women with cleavage are blessed with a true treasure chest.

I Wish I Could Still........

As I get older I miss being able to do what I took for granted in my youth.  Not a day goes by without my missing out on some of the simpler things, such as:

·         Being able to bite my toenails. Not that I ever did….I just wish I was able to do so if the urge was there. Today I have to wait for a ‘good’ day just to touch them and that’s when I am sitting down.

·         Hopping on my unicycle and just riding for miles. The little kids just loved to see me ride by. Today they would ask their Mama why that old lady has a bicycle wheel sticking out of her butt.

·         Dancing. When I do that now parts of me don’t stop when the music does.

·         Wearing pretty shoes. Dr. Scholl’s fashion sense sucks.

·         Climbing a ladder. Just the thought of moving a ladder today requires a nap.

·         Jumping rope. Can you picture double chins and boobs slapping each other silly?

·         Going braless and wearing a tank top. To do that today the tank top would have to be knee length. A windy day could be very revealing.

·         Joining the neighbors in an impromptu game of baseball. I could still do that if the other players are my age and the bases have wheelchair ramps. Nine innings could take three weeks to complete because we might have to call the game every now and then for a funeral.

·         Being able to see a yo-yo on its way back up. WHACK!

·         Belly laughing without having to change my drawers.

·         Remembering if the person talking to me in the grocery store is a neighbor, someone I used to work or went to school with, or a cousin. Or even remembering why I am in the store in the first place!

·         Being able to go anywhere willy-nilly, without waiting for a laxative to work.

·         Sitting on the floor…on purpose.

There are so many more ‘wish I could still do’ items to be listed here. I just don’t remember them all. Tell me some of yours…and you should probably add if you are a neighbor, someone I used to work or went to school with, or a cousin.

I Paid for Hypnosis

Approximately twenty years ago, an advertisement appeared in the newspaper for a hypnotist that could assist people with losing weight. He was going to hold a session at the Holiday Inn and for fifty dollars the weight would drop off after the miracle of his hypnotic rendering. 

I have had a weight problem my entire life. In that particular decade, and several subsequent decades come to think of it, I was highly addicted to Blue Bell chocolate ice cream, particularly Rocky Road. Honestly, any variation of chocolate ice cream would do. I could not seem to eat enough of it, but I really needed to be cured of my chocolate addiction.

I signed up for the class and eagerly awaited the big night.  When it arrived I entered the conference room along with two hundred of the biggest women in Fort Worth. The hypnotist began to speak of how great we would soon feel after he changed our lives forever. He told us that some people would not go under his hypnotic spell, but that the majority of the room would. He asked us to look at our watches, remember the time, and then close our eyes. I was a little bit suspicious so I placed my purse on the floor and put my feet in it. It was 7:15 p.m.

He asked us to think of the comfort food that we felt was our downfall.  That was easy…chocolate ice cream.  He asked us to consider the color of it…okay…brown. He asked us to think of something else the same color, in a similar container, or on a favorite plate, and it had to be something gross. Hmmm.  Pint. Similar container. Brown. Gross. OH!  Worm dirt! I chose worm dirt as my gross substitute.

All I remember after that is the hypnotist telling us to look at our watches again.  It was almost 9:00 p.m.!  He told us that the next time we took a bite of our comfort food it would trigger the thought of the substitute and we would no longer have the desire to eat it. Ever.

Lucky me. What are the odds? It turned out that I actually LIKE the taste of worm dirt!  Damn.