Yesterday was very hot and I thought nothing of it when I chose shorts and a tank top as my attire for the day. The first tank top I chose has a cute little bit of crochet at the top on the back. Super cute, but shrinks pretty badly in the wash. So I gently tried to stretch it. Poor craftsmanship coupled with my lacking knowledge when it comes to my own strength resulted in a ripped tank top. Nothing to worry about, I just headed back into my black tank top repertoire and started my day.
Alex and I went to the park with some friends and then spent a couple hours swimming. Which is when I figured out the elastic in my swimsuit decided the long winter in a drawer was just too much to handle and it had peacefully said goodbye to this world. Again, I was not about to let a wardrobe issue thwart my day, so I just made do with the least amount of casual swimsuit picking out of butt as possible.
When we were home later, I got myself an impressive case of the hiccups. My dear neighbor claimed to possess the ultimate hiccup cure in his arsenal, and I had no choice but to succomb. His cure involved me standing with my arms above my head while he fed me water until I couldn't drink anymore. After some water spilling on my tank top and a modest burp, we deemed he had rid me of my breath stealing demons.
It wasn't until late last night when I finally got in the shower that my little triumphs over small mishaps throughout the day came crashing down around me. It was then that I raised my arm in an effort to determine if a razor was accompanying my shampoo and conditioner to the shower when it hit me. My delicate little underarms hadn't seen a razor since Thursday. And at that moment all I could picture was my poor neighbor standing close enough to me to pour water in my mouth while I was shoving my hairy armpits in his face. So classy.
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