It’s a shame that I talk about taking vacations all the time and what happens once we actually get to take a vacation?  Well, for starters, we were suppose to leave around 6.  Boy Genius didn’t wake me up and I don’t generally wake up at that time by the course of nature.  So, at 9:30 I crawled out of bed and at 10:30 we hit the road.

On with it…I also got out of bed with a sore throat and stopped up nose.  I took something for it but it never unclogged.  I really do need another one of those professional nose picking jobs done.

And, the end to all ends, we walk a few blocks down the road to eat at Bubba Gump’s Shrimp.  And….well, you want to know don’t you….well, I ordered this dish that said it was "spicey".  So, imagine my surprise when my food came and I ate the first piece of shrimp that wasn’t even remotely hot.  However, about shrimp number 6 and a few dips of the bread in the sauce and my mouth was shooting flames across the table.

The food was good, and I ate and ate and ate and I drank and drank and drank.  I knew I was starting to feel sick but I kept right on eating.  Finally Boy Genius finished his meal and I forced my plate on him. 

I quietly asked Ditto Boy to move so I could get out of the booth and go to the bathroom.  He obliged me.  I calmly walked around in a direction that I thought I might find bathroom.  I finally asked.  Crap, gotta go up a floor.  Get off the elevator, still calm as can be…open bathroom door, go in handicap stall, ahhhh………..

I just lean back on the wall and give my stomach permission to contract….and so it does…..and I puke up about 4 glasses of sweet tea and about 10 pieces of the spiciest shrimp I’ve ever tasted in my life. 

I washed my mouth out, rinsed my face off and looked in the mirror…..what in the world is going on?  My eyes were swelling and swelling…..and swelling.

I knew I looked bad in the mirror but every person I passed on my way back to our table looked at me like I had 2 heads.  I didn’t have 2 heads but I had enough eyelids and swelling for 2.  When I got back to our table, Boy Genius looks at me the same way the other folks in the restaurant were looking and lo and behold, here comes our server.  One look at me and he is asking all kinds of questions.

I have no clue what caused that because I am fine now and I don’t have an allergy because I eat shrimp alot.  The only thing I can think of is food poisoning and I really didn’t think it happened that fast. 

Either way, It’s 10:30 here and I am already anticipating pancake heaven in the morning.  Boy Genius has gone to a fast food place the last 2 mornings (before today) and brought back a plate of pancake for me.  Well, I didn’t get up and eat them.  So, as we were walking back he asked, "how long will it take you to get up to get to pancakes in the morning?" and about the same time we spotted a sign on the front of my favorite pancake place.  And, at the exact same time we both practically shouted "peanut butter and bananas!!"  I don’t think I’ll be having any of those when chocolate chip and strawberries are available but it was simply the idea that caught our attention.

And, so, there you go..Day 1 of the last vacation of 2008…and not one picture from it all…not one!

The next issue happens to come in the form of an issue, a complaint and a tear jerker.  You see, we’ve discussed many times that I am over-weight.  But, I have a strange make-up along with this over-fat self.  For instance, let’s talk about general body size.  I need a 22 – 24 shirt because my belly is so big and I am very broad in the shoulders.  I need a size 18 pants because well….just because that’s what I wear. 

It has always been this way.  Even when I wore a size 14 top, I needed size 12 bottoms.  I used to thrive on shops where you could mix and match bikini’s.  Of course, this size 18 to 24 body has no business in a bikini right now, but you know what I mean. 

Anyway, I’ve been wearing the same bra’s for the last 4 or 5 years and they’ve managed to make it through the birth of one child.  They don’t look bad at all, I take care of my bras.  Regardless of a $8 bra from the , dollar store, an $18 dollar bra from Walmart or a $38 bra from J.C.Penny’s, I do not put my bras in the dryer, so they don’t necessarily shrink, I mainly outgrow them.  And, nothing irks me more than to spend money on something that no one will ever see. 

But, the time has come, I was using extenders and my boobs were hanging out the sides.  So, here in lies problem number two.  Yes, I am over-weight.  But my boobs…well they aren’t exactly proportionate to the rest of my body.  So,  I go to the BRA FITTING LADY yesterday because I requested some "new bra’s that fit" for Christmas and my mom gave me money and said, go buy some.  Remember my old ones aren’t worn, used yes, heck they are 4 and 5  years old, but worn…..not really. 

Anyway, I step inside the BRA FITTING LADY’S territory and after waiting on her to ring up sales for about half of the town, she looks at me and says, "Can I help you".  I have the loud 4 year old with me so I kind of whisper because, well, you know, the whole store doesn’t need to know why I’m there.

She says, "let’s go measure".  And, this is where I warned her…."I can’t wear what my measurements say so we’ll just have to use that as a guide." 

She replies, "But I’m pretty good at this and trained so we will make it work".

Me?  I roll my eyes. 

Now, I know none of you really want to know my bra size but you have to hear the actual numbers to understand how ridiculous it is.  So, if you can’t take it, just close your eyes.

She gets her handy dandy measuring tape out, wraps it around me and declares "44 there" and then around the actual boobs, "49 1/2".  So, after counting on her fingers, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, that is A, B, C, D, DD, she says, you need a 44 DD.  I burst out laughing.

She looked at me and reads my mind, "I don’t think you can wear a DD cup, let’s just try a ‘D’".  I continue to help her understand that I cannot wear a D cup.  She was unrelenting.  She goes and picks me out 2 or 3 bras in the 44 D variety. 

I’m 40, I don’t care what my bra’s look like.  Maybe my husband might but mostly when he see’s me, I don’t have one on anyway, so what difference does it make.  But, she goes for the young, not teenager but definitely trendy type bras and starts digging for a 44D.  All the while I’m telling her not only can I not wear a D cup, I doubt I can wear a 44.  I know, I know, I know.  Why did I bother with this measuring deal.  I needed a 46 or 48 B and in some cases, a 46 or 48 A would be fine.  I’m fat, but I’m boobless and I like it that way.  I wish I were so boobless that I could go sans a bra like I did in college.

So, I talk her into finding me at least one 44 C to try on because she wouldn’t leave the "you measured 44" idea.  The 44 D looked like both boobs would have fit in one cup.  And, it was cutting me into pieces.  I put the 44 C on and the cups were much better but…still making creases on my body that may be permanent.

So, I go outside after re-dressing where my 4 year old Mini Me proceeds to announce to everyone in the store, "Did those not fit you mommy?"  SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHh no, we’ll find another one.  So the lady asks about it and I tell her that I definitely need a 46 not a 44 and she shakes her head and rolls her eyes.  But, you  measured a 44.  Well, I tell her, that would be fine if I wanted to continue to wear extenders…but that’s the whole point of coming in here and paying an ungodly amount for bras, I don’t want to wear extenders anymore.

What about the cup size?  Well, I tell her, I can wear the C but a B would be better.  Again, she rolls her eyes as if I’m crazy.  I remind her to ‘look" at me by pulling my shirt taut against me.  Ok, she says.  And, she sets out in search.  She confirms that she is certain she doesn’t have a 46 in a B cup but maybe the right bra in a 46 C will work.  I say ok.

She has 9 trillion customers lining up listening to us discuss my fat roundness but lack of boobs.  She points me in the direction and I pick out two.  I’ve brought them home but I plan to try them on shortly.  If they fit, or if they don’t, I’ll probably take them back and simply get my money back and then go to Walmart and buy me some in the right size that cost…oh, you know, $18 instead of $68. 

So, all these bra fitting success stories I’ve read…..argh, makes me wanna barf.  Why can’t I just be normal?

To further help you understand the disproportion of my body….my hips measure in at 45.  So, you know, boobs that are 49 1/2, waist that is 47 and hips at 45 and can you say …weirdo.