So, after my awesome day at work today, (in which I impressed both of my supervisors. I know this because they pulled me into a meeting at the end of the day to tell me exactly how awesome I truly am) I journeyed to the gym. Since Rukie has been home for the past month, I've been really slacking. While I haven't gained any weight, I'm starting to feel flabby. The only time I should jiggle this much, is when being pounded.... from behind. (I would say "properly pounded", but you really can't go wrong with doggy style.. I can rock my hips into the guy as hard as I need it.. the only encouragement I usually offer is to say, "PULL MY HAIR!!" tmi? perhaps.. but then again, you wouldn't be reading this blog if you didn't want some TMI.) (For all you acronym illiterates. TMI= too much information)

In St. Louis, its fucking hot. Like "heat advisory" hot. Like when you walk outside, you are slammed with a wall of heat so heavy, you have to learn how to breath again. Like sweat forms instantly under your boobs and you get an immediate case of swamp ass vagina. Like I did multiple pip-sniff checks today to check my freshness level. (okay, I'll admit to one crotch sniff) Oh and lets not forget to mention the 100% humidity. So, keeping that in mind, guess what running on a treadmill in the gym felt like? hhhhhoooooottttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt.

 When I got to the gym, I tried to remove most of my make-up.. but there is that last lingering bit that refuses to come off without a proper exfoliation. Like that last little bit of mascara that gives you raccoon eye. Sleep deprived.. over stressed dark circles. Yep, I had that. You're probably asking how all of this is relevant to my story. When I packed my after-gym-clothes this morning, I had no intentions of going anywhere but home. So I packed a wife beater, and an orange pair of shorts, that should only be worn to one place. Bed. (Kinda funny side note here... Mrs. Military was sporting these same shorts the other day.. and I was like "Omg, I have those same shorts!" and she was all like,"Omg!" and we were all like "O-m-f'ing-g.")

and I'm totally getting off topic again.. let's see.. I was at the gym.. dripping in sweat... put on my white trash clothing... runny make-up... Oh! Okay.. so on the way home I discovered that I needed this super emergency item from the store. An item that I'm not going to divulge, just know that it's important. The only store between where I was at.. and my home was a gas station, and I wasn't about to drive across town to pick up my special item. Nor was I going to drive home to change my clothing for an errand that was going to take all of 10 seconds to complete. (Sue me, I'm lazy)

So, blah blah blah, I get in the gas station, get my shit, turn to leave and run smack fucking dab into my ex. Not my ex husband. This was my first love. The guy that I'll never really be over, and still stops my heart every time i see him. Yep, that's the one. There I stand looking like I'm the next star in an episode of Cops with my highly important, unrevealable purchase in hand.

The world did that whole stopping thing.. like where you're stuck in that moment of time... yep a never ending moment of sheer humiliation.  Then, I actually dropped my item. He bent to pick it up. If i thought that moment before was bad, this one was even worse. I was still standing there with my mouth gaping open, and my and still in the position where I dropped my thingy. I closed my mouth before drool started seeping down my chin... then i tried to talk.. I was going to explain my item and my appearance.. but realized I didn't owe him any explanation, so I snapped my mouth closed again. I tried to say hello, but that didn't work either. I just stood there opening and closing my mouth like a little pac-man. How big of an idiot am I?!?!? Oh a fucking huge one!! Especially when the only speech I managed to speak was "I gotta go," and ran out of there with my tail tucked between my legs.

Why oh why does this shit happen to me? Why couldn't I have ran into him hours earlier when I had on my pressed linen pants, fitted button down shirt, and shoes that are soo cute I don't care they kill my feet? Thank you fate... thank you for reminding me I'm your bitch.

(Special thanks to The Stylist for introduction to the theory of Swamp Ass Vagina.)