Yesterday I was having kind of a bad day. I'd bought a new dress, a strapless one and I had to wrestle with my boobs to make it work. There was the regular strapless bra, the boustie, I even tried tape. Twenty minutes later, the girls are looking good, but I've slipped into the kind of depressed mood where I want to sit in my pajama pants and watch reruns of Top Chef while eating endless amounts of wheat thins and boursin cheese (THE best cheese ever) and drink a tub of Crystal Light Lemonade. Somehow this makes me feel like I'm somewhat near being a Top Chef... it's the cheese.
But I resisted. I said NO, No Nicole, you will not let boobs ruin your day, you will stuff those ladies into a double layer of bras, wear your favorite 'Kiss me I'm Irish' t-shirt (somewhat false advertising seeing as I wouldn't let you kiss me and I'm really only 25% Irish but no matter), throw on those hott pants and go to ballet! And then it hailed... Luckily it stopped before class and I was determined to make it out.
Off I went! Hott pants and all, through the lovely condominium meeting in my lobby. And ballet class of course wound up being a great stress reliever yet again. Maybe it's because no matter what, you can't help but see yourself in a great big tutu twirling around, and let's face it, you just cannot be in a bad mood after that. It's just too ridiculous to be sad about. Makes me wish I had class twice a week.
So here I am at work today, wishing I were at ballet class. Because there, I can wear legwarmers. And I got the ones with stirrups for your feet that go up to your thighs and they. are. awesome.
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