I am drained.  Exhausted.  Tapped out.  Dry to the thigh.

I know, that’s a weird one right?  Dry to the thigh?  What does that mean?  Leina coined it when we were planting our seeds.  She’d check the dirt of  the bean pot and declare it was dry to the thigh and needed some water.   Clearly, this child has never looked closely at my thighs because they are anything but dry.  I’d go with juicy and jiggly and overstuffed.

Oh yes, did I mention that I also went shopping for a new bathing suit today?  I know, I know, bathing suit shopping is not something you should try and do on the spur of the moment with two small children when you are totally and completely tired out.  In fact, bathing suit shopping should be banned all together.  Instead, a little swimsuit wagon should pull up discretely to your house once a year so you could try on suits in the privacy of your own house where you could moan and sob without having the people in the next stall knock on your door and demand if everything was alright.

But I do not yet rule this world so instead we must all attempt to try on bathing suits in little stalls with lots of surrounding mirrors and no high heeled shoes to help you along.  And small children.  Who insist on opening and closing the co-ed changing room door right when you are at  your least presentable which is, lets face, at every moment when swimsuits are at hand.  My children did, however, redeem themselves by telling me I looked so pretty in the suits I was trying on that I decided to take them home with me instead of ditching them by the large screen TVs.  Joking!

As if that isn’t bad enough, you then have to pay for the swimsuit.  And it ain’t cheap!  I got one suit and the total was $80.  Um, hello?  Eighty buck for a piece of spandex that shows off the worse bits of me?  Really?  But lets face it, after the agony to the dressing room, the opening and closing of the door, the moaning and the weeping, and those awful mirror, the idea of shopping around and having to go through that all over again and again is just too much to take so instead you grab the suit that was the least awful and run for the register relieved that at least that’s over for the year.   Of course, you still have to wear the thing.  In public.  I front of other people, who I guarantee will be skinnier than you.  Yeah, today may have been a bad day to try and find swimwear.

But honestly, I am not happy with June.  There is too much to do and not enough time for me to lie around and read books.  June, so far, has been filled with end of the year school events, puking, doctor appointments, puking, graduations, puking in cars, and drama.  Yes, drama.  I prefer my drama on The Hills not in my house.  So June?  You can just pack up and take your sensitive little stomach home.  And take your stinkin’ swimsuits with you.

(The above entry was written with just a schooch of grumpiness.  Please do not be alarmed.  Or, not too alarmed.)