It probably doesn’t matter to you that I didn’t get breakfast in bed, but at least I don’t say “bosom.”

May 27, 2013 in Crap I Was Considerate Enough to Not Bother You with Before Now.

You know how sometimes your husband wakes up really early on a Saturday morning and decides he wants a gargantuanly large breakfast so he makes omelets filled with vegetables?  And bacon and sausage patties and pancakes with Aunt Jemima syrup (then you tell him that you like Steen’s because it’s really, creepily thick and is a pain in the molasses to watch roll from the can you punctured with a bottle opener) and watermelon and cantaloupe?

Then he brings it to you in bed?  With coffee?

Me either.

The gargantuanly large breakfast I do know.   Because I’m quite familiar with the kitchen it leaves that appears to have held a cage match between two rabidly-ish underfed badgers that were not actually in the cage.

(However, the “in bed” part, I do not know.)  (But neither does Keith.)  (There.  We’re even.)

Then you feel you’ll never eat again because you forgot eggs makes you bloatishly swollen?  But you ate them anyway?  Because God knows you’ll never pass up a gargantuanly large breakfast like that?

That, too…I know.

So, while I spent the latter part of the late afternoon laying on the couch clutching my egg-filled gut publicly swearing I know he’s trying to kill me because I know of no man who would/should/could do a breakfast like that without the intent of killing his wife by overbloating her, Keith is pulling out yesterday’s roast and warming it up.

Keith Dinner

(Keith is now fairly accustomed to my dramatic one-act plays.)

(Performed weekly.  Often daily.)

(Damn I love that man.)

I was certain he was trying to kill his wife with eggs.  His wife who doesn’t have enough life insurance for him to actually go through the pain of preparing all that food and possibly getting blood on the carpet.

(That I’d have to clean up later anyway.)

(I don’t know where the blood part came from.)

(Possibly my dramatic training.)

Anyway, he’s in the process of heating up yesterday’s roast and that interview with that billionaire dude, Paul Tudor Jones, where he said babies are the killer of women’s focus or something like that comes on the news

Since I half-ass listen to the news…much like everything else in my life…I’m not exactly sure what he’s rattling about, however:  I do hear the word bosom.



Uh, huh.  Bosom.

Me:  “Did he say BOSOM?”

(Said with extreme animation.)  (Of course.)

Keith:  “Yeah, I think so.”

(He’s unsure because his head is in his bowl of roast.  Checking the warm-ity of it.)

Me:  “Boooooooosom?”

Keith:  “Yes, dear…bosom.”

Me:  “I mean, not breast or boobs or jugs or bazookas or honkers or coconuts or wahwahs or Brad Pitts or melons or hooters or funbags?  But BOSOM?”

Keith:  (Just stares.)  (In amazement, I’m quite sure.)


Keith:  “That’s what they used to say way back in the old days.  Don’t you remember?”


Keith:  “Baby, do you want some of this roast?”

I promptly left the kitchen and went back to the couch.  Those eggs were still bloatishly swollen.

Or wait.  Let me re-phrase that:  Those cackleberrys or roe or chicken plops were still bloatishly swollen.

(Bosom?  WHO SAYS THAT?)

Regina May 27, 2013 at 7:31 pm

Apparently that is the term the itty bitty titty committe decided to call them. lol

sorry, couldn’t resist.

Bosum is so 1950.
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Carrie May 28, 2013 at 7:44 am

HAHA!! Haven’t heard that one in a while! And you can bet, will totally run it in the ground now. Everyone around me will be thanking you for that little gem!

Amanda May 27, 2013 at 7:44 pm

I’m surprised you were able to keep your eyes open with all that food in your belly!! Pancakes do me in. There’s an immediate carb-induced nap for me after I eat pancakes. I’m proud of you for simply hearing the word bosom.
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Carrie May 28, 2013 at 7:44 am

Oh, believe me. I napped. And napped.

Then went to bed early.

Adelyn May 27, 2013 at 8:16 pm


I love you. Truly. Hope that is not weird.
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Carrie May 28, 2013 at 7:46 am

Truly. I love you back. How weird is that?

I always say the world needs more love and sparkles. So, weird? NOT AT ALL, SISTER!

Barbara May 28, 2013 at 5:40 am

Hahahaha. You are too funny. Oh, and that Paul Tudor Jones is only 58. Saying bosom makes him sound 80. 😉
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Carrie May 28, 2013 at 7:47 am

No way. 58? I seriously thought he’d be older than that.

Saying ‘boob’ would have made such a better interview. For THAT boob.

Lisa Hewitt May 28, 2013 at 1:26 pm

I almost couldn’t get passed the first paragraph. Wow. I will work gargantuanly into a conversation today. This man has 3 daughters – bless his heart. I hope they rip him a new one. Sorry about that egg bloat, but it really does sound like it was worth it. Is bosom plural? I have an old-school dictionary- I’m gonna look it up.

Carrie May 28, 2013 at 8:44 pm

Well, bosom SHOULD be plural…I mean, well…you know.

Kinda like pants. You don’t just have one, right?

I’m sure his daughters cringed gargantuanly. I know I would have.

Jennifer May 28, 2013 at 3:58 pm

Sexist old dudes say bosom.
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Carrie May 28, 2013 at 8:45 pm

OMG. When I first read that I thought you said, “Sexiest old dudes…”

I was like, “WHAAAAAT??” Then I got all giggly because I could hear your voice saying it.

Jef May 28, 2013 at 5:01 pm

I have to ask: Which one is Brad and which one is Pitts?

Carrie May 28, 2013 at 8:46 pm

Well, depends on the day.

And then there’s Sonny & Cher. And Laurel and Hardy. And Ross and Rachel. And I could really probably go on and on and on.

katie metzroth May 29, 2013 at 11:26 am

Brad Pitts? I confess that makes no sense to me as he seems to be into chicks with small “personalities”. (courtesy of a coach who liked to say, “ladies, let’s keep our personlities under wraps”)
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Carrie May 30, 2013 at 1:38 pm

Boobs are boobs.

Are boobs.

Krystyn @ Really, Are You Serious? June 3, 2013 at 8:09 pm

Bosom? Seriously? Yep, that’s why women don’t do anything good.

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Carrie June 4, 2013 at 7:52 am

Ain’t that the truth??

It’s because of these ol’bosomeses that I can be pretty worthless.

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