Tuesday, March 20, 2012

Short ASS

So, I feel like an old lady.  

Well, I should say that I feel like a very “experienced and WORLDLY” old lady.  Because I am sore, I can hardly get up, I shuffle when I walk and my butt hurts.

Treadmill, RIIIGHHTT
For the past week, Hubby and I have been challenging each other (and no, it hasn’t been for sexual acrobatics, this time) we have been challenging each other on the treadmill.  
If Hubby does 1.5 miles, then I have to do 1.5 miles, if Hubby does 2 miles, then WHATTHEFUCK….I have to do 2 miles or suffer the SHAME and TORTURE of having him best me.  
And there ain’t NO FUCKING way, I am going to back down….unless I die, collapse, crawl, or basically do my own stunts on the treadmill. 


For this reason, I am now suffering.  And it’s my own fault.  Did I have to set the speed so high or the incline so steep??

But do I, just to have one up on the hubby….Ummm…Yes?

I would so fuck with my kids like this when I get old

So here I sit at my desk today, dreaming of the padded donut butt ring so that my poor abused rear could get some added support.  Not that my pads of butt fat are helping, but it hurts.  
And for whatever reason, raising my arms hurts, and walking up and down my office stairs hurts, and, and, and….I’m short.

Yes, I have just realized that I am short.  And for many, many years my 6’-2” brothers (yes, I am the fucking midget milkman’s kid) have “affectionately” called me “Willow”.

Fuck YOU J.R. for telling Steve this, and Fuck you Steve for handing me a stick

I usually take their good natured razzing because I have believed the lie perpetrated on my driver’s license which indicates that I am 5’-2”.  Not incredibly tall, but not entering the oompa loompa status either. 
Until the other day. 

That’s when hubby asked me, “Really, how tall are you?”  To which, I replied, “Fuck if I know, get the tape measure.”  WHATTHEHELL….What was I thinking?  As I am being measured by hubby, he says, “Stand up straighter”  Um Hello?  I have like the best fucking posture around.  My grandmother was an absolute NAZI when it came to posture and manners.  There was no slouching, no rolled shoulders, and on god’s green earth, would not standing at full height be allowed.  

My mom even sent me to “finishing school” where I had to learn about place settings, how to stand with one knee slightly bent and to walk with a full stack of books on my head while in high heels. 

As Hubby is shuffling the tape measure silently, I can feel the glee crackling the air behind me.  The anticipation of him telling me how short I actually am is killing him and he just can’t wait to get it out. 

“Holy Fuck Willow, you are barely 5 ½ feet and I was being generous!  Shit girl, you are SHORT…..and I mean like SHHOOOOORRRRRRRTTTTT.   When we get old together I am going to have to get you a stool so that when you stand next to me we can hold hands.   You do know that your daughter, who is 9, is 4’-9”.  It’s going to be funny watching you discipline the tall girls, it’s a good thing that you are so mean, ankle biter!  You will be like the cute little furry yapper dog running behind them.”

Hardee Har Har Jackass.  Hardee Har Har.

Heard that one before


My brothers do this ALL the time

As a grown woman, I can still SWING ma feet

So tonight, I will be celebrating my last night of kiddie freedom!  The girls have been swept away by Grandpa and Grammie (respectively). 

My youngest is currently luxuriating in the warmth of Grammie’s affection.  She has conned Grammie into getting her high heels (at 6…Grammie), has had ice cream every day, spent the majority of yesterday shopping, is going to Zumba class, and will go to art class later with Grammie.  

While the oldest is basking in Grandpa’s affection, has been spoiled with her own special spa day, is getting Starbucks everyday (that’s right….keep her short), is swimming in Grandpa’s covered pool while it’s snowing, and will be going on a big fishing trip.

I will end my wonderful vacation by taking my shortie self to Hubby’s first softball game. 

Hopefully, someone will not try to steal me as long as I hold onto his hand.

Me & Hubby......

1 comment:

  1. Good news. Since you are short, your legs are shorter, so when you are runniing the same distance as your husband, you are actually doing way more work. You win.
    I told Manfriend while we were on a run this weekend that he had to run at my pace or I was not working out with him anymore and I would just let myself go. That'll teach you for trying to push me, jerk. : )