First, please know that the breast lump my doctor found last month was nothing more than a fatty deposit. May as well get right to the point about that. Just when I was imagining how wonderful life would be if I wasn’t hauling around these low hanging mangoes. You guys, most of you don’t deal with aging breasts, so you don’t know how irritating it can be. They are always in the way. Require additional support. And when you get older, it’s a lose-lose proposition. Bras are uncomfortable, but so are globs of fat sticking to your ribs. Can’t win.
Gotta admit, the only creatures happy about a collapsed Sleep Number bed are the cats. It’s one of the horrors you hope never happens to you. Absolutely, you dread the day you could ever imagine it happening. And then one day the doctor says you have a lump in your breast . . . and that was sooo last month. I am fairly calm and collected about it. Not like I envisioned. No big deal. But what is a huge f-ing deal is when you have to sleep on a collapsed Sleep Number bed.
Have you ever thought about this? Hey, never thought our bed would deflate. Leaving us bed-less, basically. I mean to say to my younger self, what did you think when you bought a mattress that was filled with air? That it would always work? Ha, you would not think that if you listened to the hokey noises the pump makes. Like something out of 1960. Unlike a waterbed, it is not likely to spring a leak. But at least back in the days of leaky waterbeds, you could patch them.
Even though it’s the same old birthday that happens every year, I don’t always plan something for it. Staying in Sacramento this year. This year is the birthday I was supposed to retire. About 10 years ago, I circled this date on my calendar and promised myself I would retire when I turned 66. Plans have a funny way of not always working out. For one thing, I’m married to a guy who is almost 11 years younger than me. At 55, he has no urge to retire. It’s all my fault anyway. I should not have urged him to get a job, and if I hadn’t done that, I wouldn’t have this problem right now.
How was I to know I would find myself in the middle of a tomato juice vs clamato juice debauchery, the innate destruction of human nature? Personally, I think clamato is one of the most disgusting juices on the market today, and I don’t know any aficionados. But I have figured out how they manage to sell clamato. They confuse you. It’s witchery. They stick all of the tomato based juices together. If the tomato juice was nestled next to apple juice, you would never pick up a bottle of V8 by mistake.
Married real estate agents seem to be far more productive than single agents. It’s not like I have any statistics to throw at you; just my observations. I suspect it’s because we get to a point in our lives where we have fewer activities to keep in checks and balances. For me, it’s pretty much: job, husband, cats and Elizabeth Weintraub Team members. Not always in that order but not a lot of distractions. However, last week I seemed to have caused a big ol’ ruckus with one of my banks, and not sure how it happened.