A very embarrassing story...

One morning in high school (I think it was in the morning), we were running in gym class. Now, as I think I've mentioned before, I was in fat gym in high school. Which was actually way better than being in regular gym. We got to wear what we wanted, one day a week we had classes on stuff instead of dressing out and sweating, and not once did we have to spend weeks at a time playing Ultimate Frisbee. We did more actual working out than any regular gym class. And no one was the fat kid. In fact, not everyone was really fat. But, we won't single them out (even though some of them read this blog).

So anyway. We're running in gym class. I think this was my Junior year. I had on at least one sports bra (I eventually progressed to three before the jiggling was sufficiently contained). I'm running along, talking to whomever I was running with, and my friend says something behind me. And I made a very poorly timed look over my shoulder...

...and smacked myself in the face with my boobs.

Now, naturally, the four of us involved dissolved into giggles, and my gym teacher suggested moving up to two sports bras.

I'm a little afraid of a similar incident tonight, frankly.

I'm all vamped up and ready to go to Cleo and Tony's Halloween party. And I look like the prow of a ship.

A glittery, black-lipsticked, giant-hoop-earringed prow of a ship. Wearing jeans, because I never could find the skirt I wanted, and a name tag that says, "Hello, my name is Id. How can you serve me today?"

It's all very tawdry and...um...unconscious (that was a psychiatry joke, sorry. My anxiety's up a little, here).

::whimper::

The funniest thing, I think, is that this whole costume started with a ridiculous black and pink wig that Ruthie talked me into buying. Which annoyed me so much I'm not actually wearing it.

Okay. I'm going to stop babbling and go find my boxing gloves. Wish me luck, y'all.