Saturday, November 14, 2009
So, I'm sitting in a hotel room up in pituresque North Carolina. Today I'm hiding out to catch the Ohio State/Ioway game (can I get a Go, Buckeyes!?), but tomorrow, I'm actually anticipating dressing up in a costume to go to the Renaissance festival. John is already over there, and from the various phone calls we've shared today (because, yes, we're still that sappy even after almost 10 years), he's having a blast. Me -- wear a bodice? O.M.G. The "girls" won't know what hit them, but they'll sure let me know it tomorrow evening - we'll see.
I'm sure this pondering has been put out there before -- how in the hell did the women we love to read in our historical romances put up with those agonizing, torturous bodices, corsets, garters, and good Lord, the underthings?? Really, we're spoiled nowadays and love to bitch about the bras we're forced to wear to not embarass ourselves out in polite company. I know it's all so romantical to read about the necessary sumptuous gowns and evening wear for a lady to put in an appearance at a tonnish ball. But...seriously? Ah well - tomorrow I'll wear a bodice in those women's honor and proudly put the girls up on display. This should seriously gain me some points with John...
What does this post have to do with anything I've ever talked about here? Well, nothing - it's just my inane rambling while I wait for the football game. Today I'll be the tomboy, wear jeans, drink a light beer or three (cuz I'm such a lightweight), belch and jeer at the game. Tomorrow, I'm a wench.