Victoria's *Real* Secret

This is for the ladies who shop at a popular lingerie shop named after a woman whose name begins with the letter "V".

Is it just me, or does your bra size appear much larger when you try on this brand's undergarments?
Is THAT the real secret behind this store?  Women love the clothing because it is sized smaller to make a woman feel her breasts are bigger?

The first time I ever stepped foot into this particular store was about two months ago, and I went in for a fitting because I wanted to know what size I am supposed to be wearing after bearing two children, gaining and losing weight a few times, and feeling the effects of gravity for four and a half decades.  The very nice attendant measured me, came up with a size very close to what I'd been wearing, and brought a handful of bras for me to try on.  Each one was too small.  She brought the next cup size up.  Still too small.  She had to bring me a bra TWO CUPS LARGER than I normally wear.

So, here's what I think the real secret is:  Their bras are sized so you feel flattered your boobs are bigger than you thought.  And since other brands (in the size Ms. "V" tells you that you wear) won't fit right, you feel compelled to only shop in her store.

Your thoughts/experiences?

Copy Cat

Me:  Is this copy for me to keep or do you want it back?
He:  I'd like it back, please.
Me:  Okay.
He:  Do you want your own copy?
Me:  No.
He:  'Cause I can make you one.
Me:  No, I just wanted to know if I could write on this or not.
He:  Do you want a copy you can write on?
Me:  No, it's okay.
He:  Because you can have your own copy.
Me:  I'm fine using this one.
He:  It would literally take me just 39 seconds to make you one.
Me: I think I'd rather just argue with you for 39 seconds.

The Fine Print

He:  Do I pay you to work or to harass people?
Me:  What does it say on my job description?
He:  WORK!
Me:  I misread it, then.

"Gimmee some sugar." - Ash, The Evil Dead

We have a white erase board to keep our grocery list on.  It's easy to note things we've run out of, erase after the items are purchased, and start over.

One of the items I wrote down last week was Sugar.
When The Husband erased the list, "Sugar" was still on it.
I had grabbed a regular marker instead of the dry erase marker.

Drat.

"We'll just have to buy sugar every week," I said.
The Husband sighed.  "According to this, we will never have enough."

***

The Husband just ran to town on an errand.  Before he left, he asked if there was anything we needed from the store since he'd be right there.
You guessed it.
I told him, "Looks like we need sugar."

Mow

I was out for a walk with The Husband when he remarked that a neighborlady mowing her lawn with a push mower was probably doing it for the exercise.  This prompted me to share a story:

Whenever my dad saw women walking past the farm for exercise, he would mutter about what a waste of time it was to walk for health when there were so many productive things available to do.  He often remarked how he'd be happy to set them up with his push mower.
"They can walk all they want to around the yard for a workout!  I won't even charge them for the service.  Well, maybe for gas..."

The Husband chuckled.  "That is funny."
"He never made the gas comment. I added that."
"Still funny."
"That's what makes it a true story... only funnier."
"I know."

Phooey.

I'm suffering from insomnia.
Fired up the computer to take care of one quick thing for work... you know, as long as I'm up.
While waiting, I thought of a brilliant blog post I could type up. 
Figured I'd take care of the work thing first, of course.  Real quick.

And now I can't remember the brilliant blog post.  :-(

Potty Break

Me:  Drat.  I was going to use the bathroom, but now CoWorker just went in there.
She:  Well, you'll just have to take a number.
Me:  I choose number two.

She snorted beverage out of her nose.

The Pajamas

You guys will appreciate this one...

My neighborlady passed away recently.  You remember her; she'd been widowed several years ago and missed her husband terribly. 

The day after the funeral, I ran into one of her daughters and after a great, long hug I proceeded to tell her nice stories about her parents.  How they'd been the first people we met when we moved to town, and how her mom brought us a plate of cookies every Christmas, and so on.

I also mentioned the visit she'd gotten from her late husband late one night.  How she'd spent that day sorting through his clothing and how she'd described him standing in their bedroom wearing pajamas.
"'He just walked through the wall, and then he was gone'," I quoted my neighborlady to her daughter.  "'Well'," I then quoted myself talking to my neighborlady, "'maybe he's trying to tell you to keep those pajamas'."
"Maybe so," she had replied.

My neighborlady's daughter listened quietly to this little story and nodded.
"That explains what we found," she said. "There was a pair of men's pajama pants under Mom's pillow.  Nobody knew why she'd have ever kept those."


Now they know.

Judge not...

As we pulled into the store parking lot, I groused to myself how the woman walking along the sidewalk across the street didn't have her dog on a leash.  Granted, the happy dog that danced around her as she walked was keeping close, but still, there's a leash law in our town that all dogs must be on a leash while off the owner's property.

"Jerk," I thought to myself.

She hollered to some folks nearest her in the parking lot.
"Do you have a cell phone?  Could you please call the police?  This isn't my dog!"

Ah.
The picture now shifted as I watched her continue on her way.
She wasn't walking her dog without a leash.  She being harassed by someone else's loose dog.  Fortunately, this dog was a friendly one.

"Poor woman," I thought to myself.

I do judge too swiftly.
I should work on that.

Shave and a haircut

I just dreamed I shaved my head bald.
Cool thing, though... I totally rocked the look.

Woke up and realized some employment changes that are coming for me will be like erasing the board and starting from scratch.
I wouldn't say these changes are all good or all bad. Like shaving your head, it all depends on the reason why you did it.

Because you have cancer?  Bad reason.
Because you're showing support for some who lost her hair to chemo?  Good reason.
Because you joined the military?  Good reason.
Because you're a freaked out pop star named Britney?  Bad reason.

(If you're here for the funny, stop reading.  Ha ha!  Good stuff, Roses!  I'll come back for more later!  See ya!  Bye!)

All this winds around to saying that if everything goes as planned, I will be leaving the dream job I celebrated getting seven months ago, and I'll be getting back into radio full-time.
Shaving my head, in other words.

Reasons?
Budgetary.  The great little company I work for, like many small businesses in a tough economy, is under a great amount of financial pressure. I may lose the job within the year if nothing changes.  If I leave and they have one less salary to pay, that's a change that may make a difference... for them, at least.

Yes, I translate going back into radio as "taking one for the team".

I don't want to leave. I'll be taking a gut-wrenching pay cut (because radio pays squat... and then it's taxed).
The great little company I work for created this job for me; before they hired me, they functioned just fine. I've begun to feel guilty for taking what little money they have.

So, while I'm not happy about this version of shaving my head, I do feel it's for good reasons.

If it were all about me ditching a good job just to be back on the radio (which it's not. It's actually an administrative position), then I'd be Britney.  And that would be a bad reason.

I'm shaving my head to support a friend.
That's a good reason, right?