My Nipples Are Leaking.

Dude, seriously. How long has it been? Like, years. I’ve got a license to practice law. I’m married. I now regularly use capital letters. I’ve gained 60 pounds. There’s some kind of weird brown spotting on my forehead. Where’s my glass of wine? What’s that smell? Nothing? But… what happened to that charming smoke-poorly-masked-by-Chanel’s-Mademoiselle aroma that was my signature scent?

I contemplated starting a new blog to deal with my new… situation. And then I contemplated not blogging at all. I haven’t dismissed either idea but in the meantime, I’m going to bitch about my life right here because you must have hated me a little bit when I was so skinny and well-dressed, right? So perhaps you find my woes a little endearing now. Oh c’mon. I was awesome; even I hated me a little bit for rocking so much. Don’t worry; I got what was coming to me.

New readers, I’d love to show you my wedding pictures so you could really conceptualize how much my life used to rock and how recently said life rocked. This “change” was pretty damn recent. But I can’t post them because I am waiting for a certain magazine to let me know whether or not it’s going to publish them and I’m not allowed to share them within anyone in the meantime. How cruel is that?

Let me give you an example to help you understand the coolness of my former life. A few weeks before my wedding, I went to a designer’s studio for my last dress fitting. Because I hired a designer (areally, really amazing one) to design my dress because I was not only awesome but also thought I was rich (silly, silly me but that’s another story).  I realize that the preceding sentence was not a complete one. I’m gestating two parasites right now. I’m allowed incomplete sentences.

Anyway, when I was visiting said studio, I admired one of the more striking gowns that said designer had created for his Spring 2012 collection. So he invited me to try on the runway sample. Now dear readers, for how many of you is the expression “runway sample” a possibility? I’m guessing not very many. Well, it was not out of question for the old me. Do you hate the old me yet? Please do. It’s ok. Anyway, I did indeed slip into this gown and it fit. Perfectly. Like it was made for me. Well, that’s not true. It’s acid green and even at my hottest, I am way to cool-toned and fair to wear acid green. But still. The dress. Freaking. Fit.

So that singular anecdote epitomizes my life prior to late December. Now for an illustration of my current life: there’s yellow stuff leaking out of my breasts. Yes, yellow. Yes, breasts. Yes, mine. To make matters worse, my sister’s reaction was not one of horror and disgusted disbelief but instead happiness and excitement. She suggested that I save it.

If you’re Googling ‘bookleaks’ right now then I envy you because it means you didn’t immediately understand why yellow stuff leaking from my breasts is illustrative of my current state.  After you’re done doing that, you’ll probably start looking at Phoebe Philo for Celine fall collection. And maybe you’ll think about how you might look in one of those dainty little outfits. You bitch. You lucky, lucky bitch. 

PS Well, I 'spose I could share one or two of them...