Mustaches. I have one. I wish I were Greek, because then at least I would have an excuse. Maybe I should change my name to Zorba. My husband's facial hair grows so slowly, I could plant a tree and be eating fruit from it before he could grow a mustache. I guess our son is going to have to learn how to shave from me. I say no more.

I have, however, decided to let my leg hair grow out in the winter. I live in a cold, snowy area. Imagine if I slid off the road into a snow bank and was caught there for several days. They might report later that the only thing that kept me from going into hypothermia was my intensely long leg hair.

My mom used to tell me that my eyebrows reminded her of an angel's wings. Lately I have been finding long wiry hairs that do not look like they belong to an angel at all! In fact, I think they may belong to Ed Asner. I'll have to let him know I found some of his eyebrow hairs.

The coup de grace (death blow intended to end the suffering of a wounded creature) to all of this is that my hair is beginning to thin on my head, front and center. It's cruel.

Monumental

Let's chat. Why do our bodies go to pot in our later years? Everything sags and droops. My sister always likes to point out to me that even our ears and nose continue to grow. Great...just what I want to know. My nose is already long enough to pass as a ski slope. It will probably look like I have my own personal Eiffel Tower hanging off of my face when I'm 80. I was at a plastic surgeon's office trying to see what I could do to save myself. I later saw his notes about my breasts. He said they were pendulous. I had visions of a clock pendulum in my head. So now I will have a nose like the Eiffel Tower and breasts that could be the inner workings of Big Ben. I'm a monument.

Number 10!

I went to the IRS office recently. Oh great...here goes my entire day, right? I needed something "official" that reported how much money I owed the IRS for an attorney that was helping me with a legal matter. What a lovely way to spend my afternoon. It would have been easier to tell my attorney that I owed somewhere around...oh, let's just make it easy and say my first-born son. So I walked in, and there was one man being helped at the counter. That's it. I was amazed at my good fortune. The IRS worker (who was the only worker there) was helping this other customer, and as soon as I entered, he ordered me to take a number and have a seat. He was very bossy about it. I did as commanded. I was number 10. I waited about 5 minutes until this other customer finished his inquiry. I could have told him what he needed to know...just send half your money in; it would have saved him his time. I stood up in anticipation of my turn with the government, when to my utter astonishment, the IRS worker looked up and scanned the room like he was trying to spot someone in particular. Right...like the room was packed with eager tax payers. He then burst out with, "Number 10?, number 10!" Was he kidding me? I was the only person in the room. Was this IRS humor? I don't know. I wanted to laugh out loud, only I was afraid he would put some sort of mockery penalty on my already sky-high bill. I actually looked down at my little paper to make sure he was addressing me. It was indeed my turn. He processed my request quickly (and happily I noticed), and I was on my way. On my way out, he asked me to fill out a survey about how the service was. It was one of those "fill in the bubble" things, like you do in school. It had to be filled out with a pencil, but I didn't have one on me, and he wasn't offering any from his very well-stocked pencil cup. Cheapskates. I give them half my money, but they can't loan me the lead from a pencil to fill out a survey on how well they are serving me. Tell ya what, if this were any other store, I think I would ask for my money back!

Yeah, about the gym....

It's a good thing I don't have any followers besides my sisters, because if anyone had been holding their breath until the next entry, they'd be dead.

I'd like to say I have been busy being thin, but let's cut right to the chase. As my fingers are tickling the keys on this Sunday morn at 8:17 in the a.m., I am eating a Hershey's Hug. I am the same me I was several blogs (and many months) ago. If there's one thing I'm not, it's a quitter...someone needs to eat these candies, who else is going to do it? You? Let me be frank. Mmmmmm, hot dogs. Oh wait, not that kind of frank. Let me be honest with you. I have worked really hard to create this body, and I'm keeping it.

My sisters and I were at the mall recently. We passed by a kiosk that featured a tea you drink and magically become thin. There was the most energetic, perky, (and yes..thin) sales girl manning the booth, and she optimistically singled me out as her next "project." She smiled a wide, tooth-whitened grin and asked me if I would like to sample the brew. She looked so hopeful, so confident in her offer. Imagine her shock when I answered, "No thanks, I like being fat." Seriously. That is what I said. The look on her face was priceless. It should have been one of those MasterCard ads.

I'm glad we got the whole exercising thing out of the way. Now we can focus on other things. Besides, it's time for me to make breakfast. I'm serving "skillets." A ginormous serving of hash browns covered with omelette-style eggs, a layer of sausage, and all this crowned with country gravy. I can feel my arteries hardening as I eat. I'm so in tune with my body.