So I bugged my poor father about more cash, which should hit my bank account in the next few days. That’s certainly a relief, as at the moment whenever I opened my wallet I saw a yawning abyss. My mother’s feeling dreadfully guilty about not getting the student loan forms to me with any degree of alacrity. The Machiavellian part of me feels like I should almost cheer her on- every moth she doesn’t manage to cough up is a month that I have to be given interest free cash.
She’s actually actively being nice to my father too, who seems to spend a lot of time denying his squirming guilt. This way he gets to feel magnanimous and well organized- and to be honest either one is very difficult for him.
Despite my protests of sleepiness, the year is purring along quite comfortably. My gentleman might be privately screaming in anxiety over his upcoming thesis deadline, but every time my professors give a midterm outline for their respective classes, my workload decreases to what I’ve already covered and my eyes get a bit less buggy.
Relief about financial concerns means time to get a haircut through the salon that did a very good job last time and tame my eyebrows with judicious application of boiling wax. Being a woman is bloody expensive and involves quite a bit of professional mutilation. To add to it, many of my older bras now have a large hole in the band and this means that I’m going to have to shell out more money on other people’s beauty standards. I really wish that bras were cheaper – I’m very lucky because I’m exactly average in size, so stores usually have my fit in a variety of patterns, but the price point for something that feels comfortable is still about $30, and waiting until the sales can be a hit or miss proposition, since being the most common size all the bland basics and pretties models tend to sell out before then, and you’re left with the enormous taupe monstrosity with the rhinestones, and the acid green starched mesh boudoir bra. Granted I feel even more sorry for the plus sized crowd, to whom those seem to be the starting, full price selection. I remember one time sifting through a bin of thongs, and some sweet and innocent designer decided is what fat women really needed was more leopard print and circus themed underpants.