Jesus Hates My Boobies
Apparently, he does. I realized this in the middle of getting my teeth cleaned this afternoon. As I sat there, allowing a stranger to probe the deepest recesses of my mouth, it occurred to me that I was experiencing increasing levels of discomfort, and not from anything she was doing to me. The pain was coming straight from my chest. My crucifix—which I always wear and tend to keep hidden under my shirt—was digging sharply into fairly tender flesh. I peeked when I got out to the car. On one boob was a nice impression of our Lord and Savior, and on the other an imprint of the back of the cross. Ow.
Double ow—I have a cavity. Phfft. And, triple ow, I need a crown on my back tooth.
Oh yeah, the rain can stop now, at least for a couple weeks. I have this bitchin’ new bike and haven’t really been able to ride it because every time I turn around, there’s thunder and lightning and rain. Spouse Thingy even took my car to work and left me the truck so I could throw the bike in the back and ride the other end of the bike path in Fairborn, but the freaking rain kept me home. Sitting here, playing online, dreading the dentist—who I really only saw for 3 minutes.