Yes, You May (part 2)

So, where was I?

Right, having lunch with my IRS-impersonating cousin, another cousin who wasn't pretending to be anyone else, and Rob, who is always and ever himself.

But before that... I left off back in 3rd grade, where I was doing a short-lived tour of duty as primary school royalty. Did that experience make a difference in my life? Sadly, the queendom for a day left no lasting impression on me or others, nor did it work the slightest of reversals in my chronic bashfulness. I wonder if that was the hope and I was mainly chosen with therapeutic intentions. More likely it was just for the sake of my round chipmunk cheeks. Not many adults successfully resisted the draw of the face-pinch when I was around. And, oh! I was a round!

I sort of lost my mojo with telling this story after being interrupted midday (by that IRS man), so I guess my cheeks and I will skip over the in-betweener stuff that no longer wants to flow, and we will fast forward to yesterday, the last day of April. The day I spent weeks anticipating, knowing I would be going to Justin Hackworth's photography studio with my mother-in-law to be his final strangers of 2010.

I guess now is as good a place as any for a confessional. I grew sick and sicker the three days before our shoot. That's right: if you want to suppress your appetite and lose a few pounds in a very short amount of time, schedule a photo session with a professional. Then worry about it. A lot. NOTE: This weight loss program will not work for people who (a) feel pretty, oh so pretty, (b) are naturally photogenic, (c) like their teeth, or (d) enjoy having cameras pointed at their faces, hips, or what-have-yous. I can vouchsafe that this program worked well for me. Finally broke through my plateau and I'm headed again toward an understanding with my skinny jeans. Thank you, terror.

Oh, fer cryin' in the beer! (Root beer, alright?) Now that I have the quiet time to finish writing this blog post, I am fighting sleep so hard my eyes are crossing. Rob is snoring peacefully beside me, and I should take a hint. I guess that means there'll have to be a part 3. Bear with me, people. I will git 'er done yet—tomorrow, Sunday, and that's a promise. Good night and good luck.

P.S. I'm cheating on the time stamp for this post. I'm calling it Saturday, but we're already well into Sunday. I'm sure my fellow insomniacs will find me out on their own.