“It’s ok. I don’t measure the same as the young girls either.”
Ummm…?
Apparently I just put all my business out there for y’all.
Or at least some of y’all are eerily good at guessing my business. To an uncomfortably exact degree.
So I’ll just explain.
I went for my depo injection today.
And as the nurse asked if I preferred my shot in my arm or hip, I was already unbuttoning my pants. And pulling them down.
Pushing two human beings out of your body drastically reduces your tendencies towards modesty.
So, as she rushed to shut the door. While I’m exposing a small, but admittedly fleshy part of my upper left ass cheek. She says this to me.
“It’s ok. I don’t measure the same as the young girls either.”
Which. Ok. You’re giving a 46 year old woman a depo injection.
I’m not exactly using that shit for birth control.
I’m mostly just trying to maintain some semblance of control over my increasingly erratic hormones. And fluctuating emotions.
It seems…unwise to comment on the body shape of the woman at the end of her hormone control method.
I mean, she’s not wrong.
I did spend half the day with my pants unbuttoned.
My new pants.
My new size up pants.
My new size up pants without actual real pockets.
And can we talk about that for a moment?
Why. Why have women suddenly lost the privilege of having real pockets in our dress pants?
What did y’all do to lose us that privilege?
Or do they think that real pockets are gonna add more mass to whatever we’re carrying around behind us?
Because fake pockets or real. Nothing’s gonna change what’s happening back there.
So you may as well let me have my damn pockets.
Do they think we just don’t want them?
Have they not seen how excited we get about pockets in our dresses?
We’ve got all kinds of shit to carry around with us.
Where am I supposed to keep my phone? And tissues? (Because allergy season is just always now. And if I don’t have a tissue, I am gonna just wipe my nose on my shirt. Like the trail runner I am.) And emergency snacks?
I need my emergency snacks.
People could die without my emergency snacks.
No no.
It’s fine.
I’m fine.
Everything’s fine.
I had enough ingredients left for two whole mudslides when I got home.
And tomorrow, one of my Tarnished Girls is teaching Rogue and Fall Risk and I how to sign some of our most important phrases in ASL.
I may have to add “back up off my ass, bitch” to that list.
Until my depo kicks in. And brings my emotions back in check.
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