For months now, I’ve been sure 2012 is going to see me the sexiest I’ve ever been. Notwithstanding the puff I’ve gathered over the last few months, I continue to be positive.
On the way to the doctor’s today, imagine my delight when a borrowed CD in the car played this song.
Naturally, I had to sit-dance. Wiggle on my seat oblivious of the humungous belly. After a few minutes:
P: (huffing) The kid is tired.
B: The kid isn’t, you are.
P: No! I am not. (resumes dancing).
B: The poor child must be dismayed his mother has gone wonky.
P: The kid must be delighted to have a wiggly mother. Wait, and you’ll know.