I knew they were large, but I guess I've forgotten that they're also in charge. I believe they're teaching me a lesson. Respect the breasts, and they will respect your bank account. I'd like to know what I did to deserve this, really. I just bought about two hundred dollars worth of Victoria's Secret's finest structural support, in size 34DD, and after a month, I have grown out of them. Victoria's Secret does not carry a 34F anything. Well, goodbye convenient VS Angel card. It was nice having the useful credit. So, I did finally find some nice looking bras in the right size on the net, and they don't seem terribly ugly, so I guess the next step is to narrow down the stores that carry those brands, so I could try them. Anyone who buys a good support bra knows that you can rarely find them for less than $40, so maybe I'll wait to see if this is a permanant change, or just some temporary inflation. I can't ask my mother what happened at her age, because she was pregnant with me when she turned 30, and I know what weirdness that can cause. She finally got a reduction about eight or nine years later. Geez. Please let them stop, Old Mother Nature; I like them just like they are. Besides, I don't want to spend another 200 dollars, because I want to be able to afford a new gun! On the plus side, literally, I can get any caliber I like, because at this rate, I'll have a great place to conceal it.
***
I grew up reading horror. Crackly, old, yellow-paged horror in between my limited supply of Terry Pratchett and Science Fiction Book Club selections. Most of the time, I ended up reading classic short stories by the likes of H.P.Lovecraft, August Derleth, and other authors of that time period. These stories were different lengths, but my favorites were always the short-short stories, which were around ten pages or less. The reason I loved them was that they were all about the plot. Each one was a neatly encapsulated idea, with no wasted space. They were like jokes, but instead of being hit with the giggles at the punchline, the last few sentences gave you the full impact of the horrific idea that the rest of the story built up. I love that moment when I see the monster was there all the time, or that oops, the head was in the bowling bag, or ugh, that's why he had to keep the rooms so cold... Don't get me wrong, I still love novels. Novels are my main diet, and I appreciate every one of them (almost every one), and I also like some novellas, on occasion. Nothing compares, though, to the short-short story, with those last few sentences like the bright red cherry on top of the perfect sundae. Wow.
Now that I've expressed my feelings about that kind of story, I will say that "Night Shift" by Stephen king is my favorite set of stories, among the ones that he's done, and is definitely in my top-ten all-time for short story collections. This book is old, though, comparatively, being from the 70's, and it shows something that seemed to die out in the 80's and never came back, which is a kind of horror crudity. I don't mean crude as in impolite, or coarse, but more like over-the-top and unapologetic about it. In his foreward, Stephen King refers to his fear of leaving his foot out from under the covers for the hand under the bed to grab. That's the kind of primal, illogical horror that he seems to have infused into the stories, and it's blunt, and universal. Good book. Good author.
***
I grew up reading horror. Crackly, old, yellow-paged horror in between my limited supply of Terry Pratchett and Science Fiction Book Club selections. Most of the time, I ended up reading classic short stories by the likes of H.P.Lovecraft, August Derleth, and other authors of that time period. These stories were different lengths, but my favorites were always the short-short stories, which were around ten pages or less. The reason I loved them was that they were all about the plot. Each one was a neatly encapsulated idea, with no wasted space. They were like jokes, but instead of being hit with the giggles at the punchline, the last few sentences gave you the full impact of the horrific idea that the rest of the story built up. I love that moment when I see the monster was there all the time, or that oops, the head was in the bowling bag, or ugh, that's why he had to keep the rooms so cold... Don't get me wrong, I still love novels. Novels are my main diet, and I appreciate every one of them (almost every one), and I also like some novellas, on occasion. Nothing compares, though, to the short-short story, with those last few sentences like the bright red cherry on top of the perfect sundae. Wow.
Now that I've expressed my feelings about that kind of story, I will say that "Night Shift" by Stephen king is my favorite set of stories, among the ones that he's done, and is definitely in my top-ten all-time for short story collections. This book is old, though, comparatively, being from the 70's, and it shows something that seemed to die out in the 80's and never came back, which is a kind of horror crudity. I don't mean crude as in impolite, or coarse, but more like over-the-top and unapologetic about it. In his foreward, Stephen King refers to his fear of leaving his foot out from under the covers for the hand under the bed to grab. That's the kind of primal, illogical horror that he seems to have infused into the stories, and it's blunt, and universal. Good book. Good author.
And yes, I do buy all my wife's lingerie....