Dozens of people spontaneously combust each year. It's just not really widely reported.

     Summer is quickly approaching. Here in Slidouche that means a number of unpleasantries that will inevitably lead to my hermitage, i.e. back sweat from just walking to the mailbox, fear of their imminent death by putting my children in the car, having to put deodorant on under my boobs, etc. 
     Somehow the Earth's rotation defies physics and allows the sun to shine directly on me and I will either catch fire or spend the next three months with a perpetual, blistering burn.  All while the native Slidouchebags (no offense to those of you I know personally), have developed a tolerance for this heat and walk around looking fabulously tan.  Did you guys get your sweat glands removed or something?  Seriously, why am I the only one spraying people in the eyes with my armpit juice?
     
     As you may remember from a previous post, I have been preparing myself for these days through the art of self mutilation--commonly referred to as "shaving."  I even risked getting the cancer and sat outside yesterday, trying to get some color.  And yet, these post-baby hormones have foiled my plan again!

     Now I have skin that is simultaneously oily and dry, leaving a layer of grease over my splotches of flaking face.  I also have a curling iron burn on my forehead, mountainous zit on my chin, and an unidentifiable, hot pink spot on my left cheek that form perfect 90 degree angles.  Combined with my razor burned and slightly off-white legs, I appear to have some sort of necrosis.  I expect my feet to turn black and fall off any day now.  Which is one of many reasons I'm looking forward to my spa day on Friday; I desperately need a qualified stranger to take a cheese grater to my hooves.

     I will try to remember and shave before then, since my first pedicure was when I was 9 months pregnant and couldn't see my lower body much less reach it.  Poor guy probably felt like he was rubbing down Bigfoot's gams for all the lotion matting up my leg hair.  I just had to remind myself that pregnancy justifies such actions, and that Lady Gaga would surely pull off a Yeti look at the next Grammy's. 

Today's subject line quote is from This is Spinal Tap (1984).