There are two things I’ve seen women be ecstatic and smiling through.  One is planning a wedding.  The other is childbirth.

I’ve decided that unless you have unlimited fundage and a perfect body, planning a beautiful wedding is nothing more than a super big charlie-horse right in my ass.

I guess I really shouldn’t be complaining, because things have finally started to work out as they should.  With the exception of the minister backing out, of course.

But, today I was supposed to have my dress fitting with the alterations lady, Angenette.  Well, my underwear that we ordered was supposed to be here on Friday but it wasn’t. This is a thing which resembles an archaic chinese torture device used to suck the breath out of women to keep them quiet!  I have no idea where the fat is supposed to go once we get me into it, but supposedly it’ll smooth one out under a wedding gown.

So, I had to call and reschedule with Angenette for next Monday.  Great!  Problem solved.  Not quite.

Today, the torture device arrived in a pretty little box.  Apparently the people who sewed the size into this thing were smoking some good shit at the time.  Because not only was it too small, but it fit my boss rather snug and she’s a tiny chick.  Way tiny, like a size 8 girl.  Now I’m no rocket scientist, but I would think if something is supposedly my size, but it fits her and it fits her snug, what the hell size am I supposed to get????

That was the only thing that made me feel even slightly less like a cow.

As I talked to Anthony whilst he was out on a ring shopping spree, in tears, he said, “Piss on it! Don’t wear underwear!”

God bless his heart!