Showing posts with label blogging. Show all posts
Showing posts with label blogging. Show all posts

Wednesday, April 09, 2008

I'm a Four Year Old Trapped in a Peri-Menopausal Body

3/4 sleeve brown yoga t-shirt
linen capris
black clogs
amber earrings


Dear Internets,

I've been in a bit of a funk for the past few days, which is why I haven't posted. Strangely, I'm usually only motivated to write when I'm feeling buoyant. A blog post when I'm feeling down would look an awful lot like my high school diary, except I probably wouldn't write what I wore that day in the upper left corner.

Speaking of clothing, did you know that, when you are four years old, you are not permitted to wear an item of clothing that bears "Size 3T" on the tag? Any birdbrain (except yours truly) knows that this is folly and goes against all laws of reason.

If the item of clothing in question bearing the "3T" tag also happens to be white ("White is not my color, Mama! Pink is my color!!!"), well now, this results in a Level Four Meltdown accompanied by the Whining Cry of Maximum Irritation.

Which is worse even than the sound of nails on a chalkboard and makes me want to run around in circles with my hands over my ears screaming, "MynameisRima!Ican'thearyoumynameisRima!" And then jump out the window.

Except what I actually do is bring out ye old Drill Sergeant of Doom persona and raise my voice ever so slightly, much in the same way I imagine a banshee might. A PMSssing banshee on an empty stomach who has a vague sense of malaise about her life in general and has not yet had her morning cup of joe.

Oh, ya. I can act like a four year old any damn day of the week.

It is important to note, however that if a pink plastic Ikea spoon should happen to be proffered as a breakfast eating implement mere minutes after the white size 3T clothing debacle, it will be thrown across the breakfast table in in a fit of rage because what fool doesn't know by now that only the dark blue plastic Ikea spoon is fit to eat Cheerios with?

Again, that would be me.

P.S. I told my ob/gyn last time I saw her that my PMS is getting totally out of hand lately. She said, "Oh, yeh, well you're thirty-four. It's peri-menopause." ACK!

(MynameisRimamynameisRimaMynameisRima!)