The Good, The Bad and The UGLY

I am waiting for my friend, A., to come pick me up so we can go shopping and have lunch. Does that sound awesome or what? A. and I are way too excited about this, and it just goes to show how small our lives have become.

The Good: I probably do not have an IGA deficiency since no one has followed up with me about the results of my immunoglobulin blood test. I just left a message for Dr. T asking him, again, to let me know the results. A negative result may not be as interesting to him, but it is very interesting to me.

The Bad: I do have Telegen effulvium which sounds serious, and is serious. It is a very fancy way of saying that MY HAIR IS FALLING OUT! I could lose up to 80% of my hair, and, though it will grow back, it might grow back curly, or darker, or... grey. So for the next year or so, I will have a head growing who-knows-what, and I'll be wearing a lot of hats. Also, my back hurts like a mo-flikka. I'm telling you, the universe is totally messing with me.

The Ugly: I am going to have a luxurious morning of shopping with my good friend, and I will get to eat something delectable, I'm sure, but the sad truth is, we're going bra shopping. If you have heavy, pendulous cans like me, then you know this particular pain. A. has teeny tiny perky boobies, and probably looks adorable in anything, so she'll have way more fun. The geniuses that make up the woman's undergarment industry saw fit to discontinue the best bra in the world, the one I wore for years, the one that made all my T shirts fit right. So, now I have to go to the department store and, rather than just finding the size and color of the Best Bra Ever, without having to think about it too much, I have to take about two dozen flesh colored bras in various sizes into the dressing room, wrestle each one off the hanger, put it on, and if it fits at all, put my T shirt back on, check for torpedo-tit, and quadro-boob, bounce around and shake myself upside down to make sure nothing falls out, and, if I am very very lucky, and the universe is smiling on me, I will walk out with one nude and one black bra, costing me the equivalent of two trips to the grocery store, or two bikini waxes, or 6 pedicures, and about 50 McDonalds mini meals. This is if I'm lucky. I could walk out of there with nothing at all but a sore back and a need for wine with lunch.

Women with little T's just don't get it. My neighbor once stared at me like I was some kind of freak because I came home completely exhausted from bra shopping, and was content that I had found something that would do the trick, and when I said, "yeah, seventy bucks." she about spit out her coffee. Small chested women can get away with shopping for bras at the Gap, but not the rest of us. Sometimes, its hard to be a woman...