I did drop a lot of dosh in restaurants in Santa Fe and Albuquerque, even though I've been diligently trying to lose weight for the last four months. Yet after eating out non-stop for five days and having some of the best Mexican I've enjoyed in ages, I weighed in even another pound lighter. Big surprise. Maybe all those refried beans and beers had some kind of catalytic effect? Kind of like red wine plus anything.
I'm so pleased, though, because I can finally fit into my trousers from two summers ago; last year I couldn't even pull them up one leg! Pretty embarrassing. This dieting has allowed me to enjoy a 200-fold increase in my wardrobe, as I drag out things that haven't seen the light of day for ages. Of course, there are also two hundred folds in all those squirreled-away trousers because they haven't been ironed for two years either.
Looks like Mr D has some housework to do when he gets home!
One of the things I miss about South Africa is Oscar. He was a master ironer. He ironed shirts, he ironed sheets, he ironed blouses with pleats and cargo pants with all their little ties and bunches. He even ironed my underwear, which was strange, because thongs generally don't get very wrinkly. I used to laugh about how unnecessary it is to iron sheets, but I stopped because Mr D always gets wistful and makes a little sad face, which makes me feel kind of guilty. And who wants a wife to feel bad and guilty? Of course he knows I have other good qualities, and would never dream of requiring me to do the ironing. I have blog posts to write! Midget wrestling expos to attend! Tennis matches to play!
And yes, indeed, my sister and I did attend the Tattoo Festival on Sunday. We saw the sign
and we had to go. I forced my posse to pull over so I could steal this sign; I plan to plant it in my garden for my next outdoor barbeque. Who knows what hi-jinks will ensue when people see they're given permission to wrestle on my lawn??
And yes, of course you're invited! Did you even think you needed to ask?
Tragically, we missed the midget wrestling, which was just about the whole reason for going, but I did get this great shirt and a new pair of knickers.
At the show I also got even more propositions than I usually do. I figured that I might be tapped as a tattoo model...
I think they sensed my vast expanses of virgin skin, and each one wanted to be the very first. Typical males, really.
I vacillated for a moment...
but then opted to wait. Sitting on a fresh tattoo on that long plane ride home?
Yet the Ink Expo raised more questions than it answered. For example:
- what's the difference between hard-core midget wrestling and plain old vanilla midget wrestling?
- are you even allowed to say midget anymore?
- and where the heck were the midgets, anyway? Obviously we missed 'em, but then friends pointed out that maybe we weren't looking low enough, and that we should have also checked behind and under things. Duh. Lesson learned.
- and what in the Sam Hill was this?
(One minute to answer.... tick tock, tick tock .... *Jeopardy music playing in background*)
When I tell you, you'll slap your forehead. "It was so obvious! What was I thinking?!?"
For a moment, even I was confused. Was it to separate the midgets when they went too hard-core, by yanking one up into the air? Was it for training midget aerialists, or for suspending people so artists could tattoo those "hard-to-reach" areas?
Close, but then again, no.
No, people who get tattoos probably enjoy pain, or at least they don't mind it too much. So when you've gotten every square centimeter of your skin tattooed, what's left but to be suspended by hooks through your skin?
Obviously, a different aesthetic.
Yet I enjoyed the jewelry,
and the scenery.
Pretty tasty. But very un-inked, now that I look more closely. Personally, I prefer naked musculature, as in this specimen. Too much doodling takes away from the overall picture, don't you agree?