I’m not one for bathing.

That doesn’t sound right.

I don’t normally bathe.

Let me clarify.

The opposite of the cleaning-of-the-body-with-the-falling-water kind of bathing. The kind in a bathtub with warm water that covers all my chubby body parts.

I haven’t taken a real bath in probably 22 years or more.

My bathroom has a massive garden tub that’s been used as our dirty clothes hamper for the last 7 years. I finally cleaned it out a few months ago to give our girls a bigger, more bath-giver-friendly space.

It’s been mocking me with its clean, empty, welcoming, open arms.

Until today. I finally took advantage of the clean tub and the lazy afternoon, and I took a LONG LOOONG bath.

And it? Was naked heaven.

I locked the door, turned up the heat in the tub, dropped the kids off at the pool (I’d hate to have had to get out of the warm water to drop a deuce), got naked (ew), and stepped in.

OHHHHHH MAMA.

Mama likes.

I stayed in for about 45 minutes reading the first pages of Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.

My girls knocked on the door a few times, utterly confused why I was A) in the bath tub, B) locking the door, and C) wondering if they could have lollipops.

I’m gonna be making this my new weekend routine. Next weekend, I’ll be locking the bedroom door to keep out the riff-raff and plan enough time to have a nap afterward.

All it takes is planning and having daddy home to answer the ridiculous questions about lollipops and why I’m naked in the middle of a Saturday.

My poor poor husband can’t be left to pick out a gift for me on his own like he did way back in ’96 when he gave me a gold pin of Mickey Mouse to wear “you know, just whenever.”

I ask you, WHO THE EFF WEARS A PIN?
WHO THE EFF WEARS A MICKEY MOUSE PIN?
WHO THE EFF WEARS A 3-INCH-TALL GOLD-PLATED MICKEY MOUSE PIN?

I’ll tell you, not me.

“It’s the thought that counts.”

The thought that as a 20-year-old “woman” I’d want to wear a Mickey Mouse pin?

At 20-years-old all I wanted was $10, another tattoo, and a Zima.

I love my husband more than brownies. I promise I do, but he’s not the best gift-giver.

I’m SO getting in trouble for this.

And guilted.

And I’m never ever getting another gift.

I have my fatness to thank for my lack of wanting things other than food, UH DUH.

If I were 50 pounds lighter, I’d want for things from Anthropologie. I’d pretty much live in their clothes.

And Shabby Apple.

And J. Crew.

And The Gap.

In my next life, I’ll totally be a retro, vintage-y kind of chic girl.

For now, I have last-year’s chino capris that shrunk in my drawers. bygones

Shopping for things for me is no fun.

Just ask my poor poor husband.

Buying gifts for me is nearly impossible unless it includes a dinner at a place of my choosing. I’m not happy with surprises.

Anal.

But not the owchie kind.

I don’t want for expensive purses. When I do need a new one, it takes me 17 trips to 14 different stores and countless hours online searching to find the perfect one. And still, I pick the one that will look better on me when I’m 70.

I love shoes, but because of my broken food foot 3 years ago, I have to be super picky with the style.

I don’t have the space for or want to dust chatchskies tzatchkies chotsckies kick-knacks.

I do want more money, but if he gave me cash, it would just be our cash and I’d spend it on Taco Bell and blow.

The BEST surprise gift he’s ever given me: our first cruise. 5 days, just us, and he arranged for my mom to watch our girls. I gained 9 pounds, he lost 3. Asshole.

The only thing other than cashola that I still want?

A DSLR.

mama wants. mama neeeeeeeds. mama will have one day thanks to The Secret, right? RIGHT?

Mother’s Day is in 2 weeks. I’m predicting he’ll make me pancakes and coffee and give me the funniest card he can find. I will LOVE it.

And if I’m NOT lucky, a Willow Tree Mother/Daughter/Angel/Clown figurine.

I’m gonna be a little bit whiny, but in a good way if there is such a thing.

You should be nodding in agreement because everything I do is in a good way, right?

I’m a little whiny because I’m a lot little jealous of other people’s talents cause I kind of don’t have any.

Unless you call being a professional eater and general slouch a talent, which, hello? it totally should be.

I want to be able to create incredible arts for stationery like this from Hello! Lucky:

_________  _________  _________

I want to be crafty like Brooke Hellewell Reynolds and her blog Inchmark:
(to her credit and mine, she used to work for Martha Stewart, so everyone should be jealous of her skillz)

_________  _________  _________

I want to have the insight and writing skills of Amy Turn Sharp, who I have met and am completely awe-inspired of (and I completely grammatically massacred that sentence).

“We have found this other place.
We have carved out rooms of our own here.
We are like tiny explorers of an expedition that is laying much of the groundwork for those who are coming next.
We are here now and this brave new world has saved me.
I have dipped myself in this river of expression and technology and I have found my place.
I am able to type these words across white space…” …read the rest…

_________  _________  _________

I want this hot bitch’s balls courage. I also wanna rub all up on my internet girlfriend’s sexy back:

_________  _________  _________

I want to have the politeness of Mandy who, I’m sure, really wanted to rail on trolls in general, and who didn’t just post this for the link bait:

“by blogging here, i am inviting you into my “home”. before you come over, i spruce it up a bit, hang pretty pictures for you to look at and open my door for you with a wide smile and open arms. if you enter, sit down and stay a while, you know, peruse the whole house and then tell me i’m ugly and dumb and my home sucks, then you’re gonna get the hell out of my house.” …read more…

_________  _________  _________

So, yeah, I’m jealous in a good way.

Now, I’m off to stuff my face hole with hot dogs and a glass of water.

Now I’m jealous of the two old-school bottles of Coke my husband drank in front of me but I’m still on the wagon so eff him.