You know how ‘They’ say pregnancy fucks up your teeth? ‘They’ aren’t kidding. Ok, so it isn’t that bad, but I have begun the process of getting my grossified mouth fixed so that I might smile again. This, today, has entailed numbing half of my face, which has left me with the ability to approximate a Billy Idol sneer, much to my delight. I used to practice in the mirror as a young’un and have become re-enamored with Generation X of late. Unfortunately the novocaine is starting to wear off but at least now I might enjoy a sammich without dribbling half of it down my chin.
It happens every summer–I grit my teeth (har) and clench my fists and SWEAR TO GOD I’m going to do the whole self-improvement thing. I suppose it comes from the whole summer birthday thing. The Big Ugly Mouth thing has been bugging me for a while, so it came to the forefront. Also up there are taming my flabby thighs while trying to gain the two pounds left to get to 110. Yes, yes, the problems I have. I just don’t want protruding ribs anymore. I’m also a bit sick of being mistaken for a child from behind.
I am a bit beside myself without Cup action today and tomorrow (it’s become so bad that my interior monologue has a rather charming BBC announcer accent to counteract all of the boneheaded American commentating) but the break hits at exactly the right time for us to ready ourselves and head out to the beach for the weekend. Several varieties of sunscreen already packed. Warn anyone who might be on LI over the weekend that I and my blindingly pale gams will be in town and should not be looked at directly lest blindness result. Barring that, I’ll be the one in the SPF tent or under as many large umbrellas as it takes so feel free to point and laugh. Have to keep up the pub tan, you know.
And that’s about it, folks. Still haven’t uploaded the picture of Lucy’s grand name-signing because, truth be told, I can only focus on, like, three things at once before my mind goes all zooey. Off to floss!