Attack Robins, Marred Mustangs; Screaming Seam Lines

While dog-sitting for Cheeseball Neighbor's brown dog, a small robin hopped by. Being a hunting dog, Brown Dog immediately (and understandably) took after the bird. As the baby bird was hopping and not exactly flying yet, Brown Dog looked a bit confused. Instead of gulping it down, she pushed the robin along with her nose.....

Suddenly, robins from all corners of the world SWOOPED down and began attacking Brown Dog. They screamed and yelled, dive-bombed, hovered, squawked and generally behaved in what I consider a scary manner. I have to say, I've never seen anything like this--that is one lucky baby bird to have all these concerned relatives. I started yelling, "RUN, BROWN DOG, RUN!" How the hell would I ever explain to Cheeseball Neighbor that her dog's eyes had been poked out by some lovely robins? Thankfully, Brown Dog came trotting to me, the birds returned to the trees, the baby bird hopped to safety and the crisis was averted.

On the home front: I've been so busy trying not to scratch/burn/mar/stain the new counter tops that I haven't been cognizant of other dangers. Unfortunately, I managed to scratch the wife's beloved Mustang. (Just typing that makes me want to vomit.) This is a very, very bad thing. She loves that car, caressing/washing/waxing on a daily basis, avoiding parking spaces under trees (sap is an evil thing), not driving it in any type of inclement weather. (If it ever came down to me or the car, I'm thinking I'd be pretty lonely.) I have to hand it to her--she handled my marring of her Mustang pretty well. She has managed not to disown me and she didn't make me sleep on the couch or anything. I offered to fix it but she declined. I suppose a new bumper would be mighty expensive and probably wouldn't match perfectly and that would be more of a hassle than looking at my scratch every day. At least it's on the back bumper--she can't see it when she's driving (ah, but she sees it every day when cleaning the car). Sigh. I am really sorry about this. If it's any consolation, I managed to scratch my car and the garage door, too--and, my car scratch is much worse than hers (well, damage-wise it is worse--not in real life is it worse). I suppose you want to know how I did this, but I shall remain silent on the issue. Suffice it to say I still feel sick about the whole thing and that I will have to fix my car, lest it rust before I finish my three years' of payment.

While feeling bad about the car and sweating over the almost-poked-out eyes of Brown Dog, I've had plenty of time to enjoy even more pants not fitting. I now officially have no shorts that fit, which is a bummer considering it is summer. As I haven't changed my diet and as I continue to exercise as usual, I believe it is prudent to blame this issue on perimenopause. I pulled out Christiane Northrup's book ("The Wisdom of Menopause"), hoping to find one shred of comfort, but instead I found confirmation regarding this dreaded issue of weight gain as part of the perimenopausal fun, in an aptly-titled chapter, "Making Peace with my Weight."

I hate to tell her that I do not have any peace about any of this nor do I intend to embrace my ever-expanding butt.

I quote her (with no permission from her or her publisher to do so, but hey--this is free advertising and it's a free blog, so I'm hoping for the best): "I began, inexplicably, to gain weight. Every day, the scale showed another pound, even though I wasn't eating or exercising any differently. I was horrified."

Great. Makes my day, don't you think? It's one thing to read it; it's another to live it. I am living it and I am not one bit happy.

MJagger suggests that I focus on how lucky I am to be healthy and that I should be grateful that I am battling the bulge instead of battling cancer or some other dreaded disease. My brain understands this and expresses much thanks; my wallet and my soul do not understand this. I will indeed be parting with money this weekend so I don't have to wear pants throughout the duration of the summer.

Thankfully, my pal Dr. Northrup does list "Six Steps to Midlife Weight Control" and thus I feel a little less out of control. She does suggest getting your thyroid test, and since I've been blessed with Hashimoto-goiter-ness, I suppose it is indeed time to do that. Perhaps it will turn out to be my goiter has decided it's been too much work to keep up with me and thus has stopped spewing out much-needed thyroid chemicals. Poor goiter: so big, so lumpy, so tired.

If it's not my thyroid, I am going to have to come to terms with this: eat less chocolate & ice cream, change up my exercise, embrace my expansion, take to heart some of Dr. Northrup's suggestions, be happy the wife didn't run me over with the car after I scratched it and be ever-so-thankful that Brown Dog still has two un-poked out eyes.
************************************************************************
P.S. don't forget to forward me those "mistaken song lyric" stories. I have a few but am awaiting more.....