March 29, 2006
Dad, don't read the last paragraph
I’m swell.
Scratch that: I am swelling.
Aside from my ass, my body continues to widen in ways that I find unnerving.
To wit: the nerves in my right hand have decided to go on holiday. I have carpal tunnel that alternately tingles and hurrrrrts. I was trying to button a shirt yesterday and realized that I hadn’t felt this clumsy buttoning since I was three. You take fine motor skills for granted. My right hand would be better used as a doorstop or a paperweight.
My ankles look like they belong to a pink elephant by the end of the day. I find this mildly amusing: my skin is SO white (peanut gallery: “How white is it?”) that the blood that pools in my lower extremities changes my skin to a deep, rosy pink.
My fingers look like ten little sausages. And not the good sausages, either: the weird, pale, British sausages that only a born Briton could stomach.
My nose has gotten wider. Thanks, God. That’s just what I need, an even bigger Irish potato nose.
My tongue is wider, I think. My vowels are all screwed up. (They’re screewed ooop, I guess).
Let’s not even talk about what’s happening to my Girl Twinkies, because my dad reads this, and because I’m a freakin’ lady.