Someone Should Make A Law

There's nothing quite like a weekend with young, hip couples to make you feel old, fat and ugly.

HOWEVER, they are awfully nice young, hip couples, and we had a great time, so I GUESS I'll try to get over it (and go on an exercise binge).

See? Here we are, celebrating Hub's brother's 30th birthday (Happy Birthday, E!) in an SUV Limo, driving around after an Oklahoma City Thunder (did you even know they had a team?) game. That, there in my hand, is Raspberry Sparkltini bubbly. It was nummy, which probably means the alcohol content was minuscule. That, and I could walk when we got out. (there's your sign). I know my in-laws were a little concerned about alcohol consumption by their very adult children and I'm happy to report that no one got inebriated on my watch. It WAS my duty as the oldest member of the group to make sure everyone went potty at all the stops and that no one got drunk.

When did I get old enough to parent 11 adults? (Kidding! I hope.)

So, after 24 hours with young, hip, skinny, beauty, I returned to the home of the big, beautiful, well lit bathrooms. Here, I took a bath in the whirlpool tub. When I stood to get out I was faced with not one, not two, but three images of my middle age spread. (Remind me to never, EVER, put mirrirs that can tri-fold across from my bathtub.)

And let me just take this opportunity to express my feelings that it should be illegal to stay with ones in-laws three months running while you are suffering from PMS. I could take years to remove the B*&^% stigma that has most assuredly been placed upon myself. The point of mentioning that, though, is the bloating (or that's what I'm telling myself) that also happens with this dread affliction. Nice, huge, well-lit mirrors, in tri-fold across from the bathtub (plus) PMS (equals) fat complex.

The good news is that here, on January 19th, I'm inspired once again to DO SOMETHING about this roll on my gut. Because, even here, in crap bathroom H-E-double hockey sticks, the image lingers on.