Boys will not like this post. Probably nobody will like this post.

I think I once had some fun things to say today, maybe, except that they've all been lost to my mind-numbing depression following an ill-conceived bra shopping expedition. Had I known all the symbolic suckitude that would come from this task, I would have skipped it and put some duct tape on my last two hanging-on-by-a-thread bras. Seriously.

I think this is where I'm supposed to be all feminist rah-rah bullshit and badge of honor, I am woman, mamas are beautiful PONIES RAINBOWS UNICORNS GIRL POWER. Instead I would prefer to sulk like a teenager. Maybe I'll go light some candles. I'm pretty sure I've got some Sarah McLachlan or Tori Amos laying around somewhere.

Comments

[Heidi]

I like this post.

I don't quite GET this post, but it's what's going on with you and that's why I come here, so yeah.

My depression usually comes from JEANS shopping. (Or shirt shopping. Or pants shopping. Anything other than shoes actually. Not bras. Yet? Is this my post-nursing future? halp.)