At the present moment, my office is awash in sugar. Since Thanksgiving, diabetic coma inducing treats have shown up with such frequency that I'm going to need an insulin pump by the end of the season since, as you all know, I have no self-control.
Tuesday was the Compassion Christmas party (which I totally forgot to take photos at, darn it!). It was a fancy dress-up affair, and I scoured my closet at the last minute to find a party dress to wear. (I should have taken photos. We don't go to fancy dress parties that often.) I picked out something, and asked Eric to zip me up.
Eric: "Hon, I think the zipper's broken."
Me: "The zipper's not broken. Just pull."
Eric: "No, its not going up. I think its broken."
Me: Just pull.
Eric: "Can you hold it? I don't want to break it!'
Me (turning beet red): "You won't break it; just yank that sucker. Son of a...."
After several attempts, we finally got the zipper up. This may have involved two hands, and sucking and holding it as hard as I could. I sent my co-worker the following text, which she apparently shared around (and, since she reads this now, DEBBIE YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS POST):
"Dear Jesus, thank you for the woman who invented Spanks. I might not be able to eat or breathe, but I can get my dress zipped. Amen."
I spent the rest of the evening breathing one lung at a time, feeling like a sausage, but we made it through and there were no wardrobe malfunctions.(We should have taken photos.)
If you need me, I'll be spending the rest of the season in fat pants, eating nothing but celery.
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