On Monday, when I thought I would get this missive written and similarly posted, I had a major boob moment. Ultimately all that boobing around caused me to not write this post or pretty much anything else. Boobs can be such a distraction.
In case you are thoroughly piqued and/or confused, on Monday I had a mammogram. It was my third one since turning 40, five years ago. Yes, if you are mathematically inclined and up on your recommended schedule for preventative maintenance, er, medicine, you probably noticed an issue with those numbers. As in if I’m 45, I should have had 5 of those mammary mashing moments so far. Instead, this was my third mammogram.
For the record, I dutifully had my first mammogram not long after my 40th birthday. I figured it wouldn’t be a party, but not really a big deal. Afterwards I felt like I’d been lied to by all the boob-owners I know. Good grief, it was painful. All the women I knew poo-pooed my boo-boob complaining. It seems that none of my fellow boob-owning friends or family were bruised from clavicle to hip from having a mammogram. I was a party of one. Continue reading
Periodically folks like me find things that strike our funny bones. Now I realize that my sense of humor lies somewhere between a 7th grade boy’s and someone slightly disturbed, but I try to not look at that as a major character flaw. In fact, back when I has a high school English teacher, it added some necessary comedic relief. Need a reference point to flesh that out? How about, never say “tongue-in-cheek” in a room of 9th graders. Or, when using a personal anecdote to illustrate a point, keep in mind that “thongs” mean something a wee bit different to today’s youth than back in the 70s. Of course, I was always the one laughing the hardest over such conversational mishaps. You would be amazed at my lack of decorum whenever somebody had the bean and cheese burrito for lunch. (Why would school cafeterias do such a thing????)
So you can probably image how much mirth I find in typographical errors. Specifically ones about missive boobs. It is amazing how many folks hit this site by searching for “missive boobs” – which I’m thinking are supposed to be “massive boobs.” You know, I’m not really sure I’m doing much for those lonely folks.
There are times when being married to a “techno-daddy” has its real perks. Like when my computer gets the blue screen of death and nothing I’ve tried fixes it. And he’s bang-up with a power drill, he really is. But there are times when it certainly has its drawbacks, and I’m not just talking about when he actually answers my query: “So, how was work today, honey?” You know how they usually just say, “Fine” and then leave the room? But every once in a while – you must have a particularly fetching outfit on or something – and then they actually start doing precisely what you want them to do: sharing about their day. Which is fantastic until all the techno-jargon starts tumbling out of his mouth and you suddenly feel like your decoder-ring has gone on the fritz. I jokingly told my sister-in-law that when her techno-daddy does this, she should just offer up a quick marital moment to get him to stop talking. I believe it may be up for consideration.
But my sweet techno-daddy is good for lots of obscure cultural bits that I would never find on my own due to my aversion to reading magazines and ezines that focus solely on the technological world. (Although I have to give Gizmag props for being a great compendium of interesting things for normal folk too!) He is responsible for my recent, “You have got to be kidding me!” moment: the amazing USB Boob Warmer.