Boobs. Some Good, Some Not So Good.

Saturday was a draining day, emotionally and physically. It started off with an early-morning phone call from Hugh, who had taken the kids to a nearby town for the last wrestling tournament of the season. The tournament organizers informed Hugh, and the other parents from our club, that they had not received a roster from us and therefore, the parents would have to pay a $10 surcharge for late registration.

I assured Hugh that, not only had I faxed our roster to the number listed on their contact information, but I had also followed up with a phone call, leaving a message indicating that I had just faxed the information and that, unless I heard from them, I would assume all was well (yes, I know, never assume; to assume makes an ass out of u and me, thank you very much Mrs. Joya, my eleventh grade French teacher). But, in addition to the fax and phone call, I had also spoken to the husband of the woman who was “in charge” of the event and I use that term loosely, to confirm that we were rostered and to add another wrestler to the brackets.

The people at the registration table basically said, nope, didn’t get it, never happened. Folks, they called me a liar. Hugh? Most unhappy. But, to his credit, he handled the situation quite well. He made certain that the brackets were changed and that our kids got to wrestle. He even paid the late charge for each of our wrestlers out of his own pocket. I was proud of him but the entire situation left me in no mood to be bright and freaking’ bubbly at the spring Luncheon, I mean, a redneck called me a liar.

Anyway, I faked bright and bubbly and it was fine.

The dress that I bought for the event was a big hit and, I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this here before (five or ten meelion times) but; I have gained back several of the pounds that I lost a couple of years ago. Now, I don't know about you but, whenever I lose or gain weight, the first place to show it is in my boobs and, since this recent gain, my breasts have been enjoying a most voluptuous come-back which makes me uncomfortable because I have never been a huge fan of The Breasts and don’t generally flaunt them.

Saturday’s dress however, said what the fuck! Let’s take The Girls out! And, it did. The best conversation I had all day went something like this:

Dear Friend of Mine: Your breasts are amazing. If you weren’t so nice I would have to hate you.
Chelle: That is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.
Dear Friend of Mine: Really? Well, you are welcome. Let’s drink some wine!

It took the sting out of being called a liar by a redneck in the nearby town, for certain. Also, can you see why this is a very dear friend of mine? Of course you can.

The luncheon was a success, as usual. I’m not going to lie and tell you that I felt guilty for not doing a table this year; in fact, I thoroughly enjoyed being a guest rather than a hostess. Best part? No dirty dishes to haul off after the event. And, there were some absolutely gorgeous tables and clever ideas that made me gasp in awe. And, I'm sure you'll have no trouble understanding that my favorite table featured a mini buffet of sweets; The Breasts do have chocolate to thank for their return, after all.

The outfits I wore for the fashion show were cute and comfortable and my feet weren’t killing me by the end of the day and I cannot even tell you when the last time that happened at the luncheon. Also, I got a certificate for a free manicure because I broke a nail down to the quick right before the show started and one of the other guests at our table owns a salon in town and took pity upon me.

Either that or she, too, was dazzled by the Cleavage. Either way, free manicure!

After the luncheon, I met Hugh and the kids back at home. The Man-Cub was stoked because he had taken first place at the Redneck Wrestling Tournament and, in addition to a gold medal, he won a champion hat. A hat, suh-weet!

He is so darn easy to please, it just kills me.

Hugh was pretty happy with himself as well, because I had innocently remarked that I was pretty certain that our fax machine keeps a log of sent faxes and, since I was right, he was able to pull the report and is all set to call the school that sponsored the Redneck wrestling tournament to have it out with them until he gets his money back for the reimbursement of the late charges. He also wants an apology from the bastids for calling me a liar.

My husband lives for a good fight and I’m proud that he is so damn hot to fight for my honor.

Ha! Cheesy love song!

Wow! This is getting long.

I’ll close by saying that, Saturday night, Hugh and I took the kids to a magic show sponsored by the local Boys & Girls Club of which our kids are members. It was held at a local coffee house and I had what was probably the best latte that I have ever had. The magic show was awesome as well.

Thus the day, which had started out so rotten, ended on a lovely note.

Minus any sign of visible cleavage.

*Very Dear Friend is on the right in the picture above. Don't I look huge in that picture? Like, seriously enormous? Between her and my other good friend (on the left) I look like an amazon. Or, a giant. But that is only because they are pocket people. Seriously , tiny. So, to recap: Scary Cleavage I got; gigantism, not so much.