It happened. The inevitable.
Lathering up my hair in the shower this morning I felt my fingers tangle as I massaged my succulent swede.
Inspecting my soapy paws I could clearly see the hair, my hair, wrapped around my fingers like fucking Zoodles.
I was expecting it, I literally wrote about it only last week but there is a whole world of difference between preempting and reality. Now, it’s a reality. The bald Eagle hath taken flight.
I dried my hair delicately hoping my follicles wouldn’t noticed and would stay put embedded in my crown. That’s not how it works, I know. But FUCK man. Urgh
I’m not going to harp on about it today, NO. Its inevitable right? Another day on another week I’ll not be so blazay about the grim situation but today, well, who the fuck gives a shit. Queue Beyoncé – Independent Woman. QUESTION…
I’ve got bigger fish to fry today, more pressing matters about this whole weight loss malarkey like at what point can I buy new tits?
Legit question. It’s not that I need them RIGHT NOW but i’d kinda like to know the score as to when new tits will be required.
For instance, if one was to purchase a new rack in lets say, 2 months that being only 5 months post op, would one’s brand new Babylons get totally mash up in the pilgrimage to a lighter life?
Am I getting ahead of myself? I’ve never been one for patience, the long game. I want everything done yesterday and I kinda feel like if my hair is going to fall out then I should at least eradicate the worry of shit tits but maybe I’m being ridiculous. It wouldn’t be the first time.
Failing buying new boobs prematurely how about exercise? I’m sure there has to be some legit work out maneuvers out there especially designed to turn your udders into rock hard buns of steel?
So far my gym efforts leave me more of a puddled mess as opposed to a stone goddess of mega tits. Woe is fucking me bro.