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Posts Tagged ‘bra fitting’

metal wagons

metal trikes

things that rust   no there will always be rust

cigarette ads

I’d rather fight than switch

liquor ads

men in hats

my father in a hat

Gladstone bags

flight crews (I know there are still flight crews; it’s not the same)

food and drinks included

metal utensils

department stores

5-story department stores

foundation garments

girdles (Mom, what’s a girdle?)

a magical time when women did not hate their bodies

bra fittings

training bras (really? training for what?)

how to put on a bra properly (I STILL know exactly how this is done, the bra-fitting ladies taught me. First, you bend over to about a 90 degree angle at the waist, let your boobs fall THEN put them into the cups! JEEZ! The rest is all about fluffing them in once you’ve stood up)

I do not know what this means

what my legs must have looked like when my first-ever boyfriend told me I had pretty legs

heavy black telephones

dials

good sidewalks

45s

those record players that all other girls but me seemed to have, just that square box

Easy Bake Oven I also did not have an Easy Bake Oven

12″ vinyl

10″

electric blankets that burned your skin (this was only at sleepovers at other people’s houses)

pads with belts

pads without wings

non-tattooed bodies

Chinese food served in those tallish metal dishes with a lid. That food was gross! No wonder I thought I didn’t like Chinese food.

pig’s feet, wrapped in plastic, right in the meat case at the A & P

cow’s tongue, too

yes, the A & P

ice cream with freezer burn

Detroit

the Detroit Tigers of my youth

Detroit

meine Oma

my father

I miss him sometimes, I don’t know how, it’s been so long

this post harkens back to this post. What a sap! Make it stop!

Yes, I did put “boobs” as a tag to this post because, let’s face it, lots of people do google searches for boobs and ass (ass tattoo, too, don’t leave out the ass tattoo!!!)

I think I prefer the word tits, but there’s really no word that’s good enough

You know when people look at children playing and they say “I wish I had that kind of energy”? When people (okay, it’s always women) say that, I think “Are you kidding? I’m the one chasing that kid around, waiting for the next step, preparing the food, the nap time, the everything, the one without as much sleep.” I DO have that kind of energy and then some. What are these women thinking?

I kind of have too much energy, hence these numerous blogposts

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