Really terrible reasons to start a family

I'm watching my friends, one-by-one, succumb to baby fever. It's like a real-life version of the twitterpation scene from Bambi.

I keep expecting it to hit, but I've got nothing. I love kids, but babies? I don't get it.

So far, the only reasons I've even thought about starting a family have been... shallow. Very shallow. Such as:

We first liked the names "Emma," "Sophia," and "Will." But we all know what happened with those names. So a year ago we picked new ones (because how else do you pass long car rides?).

Sure enough, the new picks have started slowly creeping up the "most popular names" list. I keep having mini panic attacks every time a friend or relative gets knocked up (what if they use it first? eeeeeeeep). (So, current name candidates? Under lockdown.)

Plus, there are the materialistic things like THESE:

[from]

And THIS:

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Another selfish reason: because I think pregnancy is the coolest thing ever. Your uterus grows to 1,000 times its size. If your whole body pulled that off, well... here are the tallest buildings in the world:

Here is you x1,000 next to those buildings:

LARGE & IN CHARGE, BABY.   L A R G E   &   I N   C H A R G E  .

And another terrible reason for getting knocked up? Because I am DYYYYING to have a puppy right now. And our apartment doesn't allow puppies, but it does allow babies. BAD April. Baby does not equal surrogate puppy.

Any more posts like these and the Child Services people are going to be waiting in the delivery room to seize our newborns.

Sure, I want kids someday. Sure, I've loved my future offspring ever since I realized I could have offspring. Sure, I've loved them even more since I met the guy who would be contributing half their chromosomes and raising them with me.

But I don't want them right now. (Okay, maybe a tiny bit. Like a 5.5-out-of-10 amount of Want.)
(But that's all.)
(& I hope they get his hair.)

Things I have in common with Tinkerbell

I vividly remember boxing up my shoes when I moved out for college, and being struck with the realization that I didn't own a single pair that would look strange if a man wore them.

{click to zooooom in on those flying mud globules}

Running shoes, Birkenstocks, and trashy Goodwill boots. That was it.

Ta. 
Da.

You know where this is going: I've come a long way in four years (or should I say, 10 pairs of girly flats later).

Surprise! I had two extra legs you didn't know about. And no, of course I don't have time to shave all of them.

Honestly, though, it's times like these I really appreciate the fact that Jason is extremely secure in his masculinity. And wears the same shoe size as me.

So, while I realize the following will irrevocably tarnish my tomboy reputation, I've just gotta say... THESE are now my favorite pair of shoes that I've EVER owned:

EVER. Which will forever be the one & only thing I have in common with Tinkerbell.*

I can't write about girly shoes without quoting a hilarious little musing from my pal, Kristie:

"Today I wore some flats (the cute ballet-looking ones that have been in style for a little while now) that I stole from my sister. I rarely wear flats because they give me the distinct impression of cross-dressing. I feel like a drag queen right now."

She nailed it! That's exactly what had constrained me to man-shoes the first two decades of my life. And PERHAPS this is even the same reason I had to bribe Jason to wear them...? Eh. Who knows.

I distinctly remember the first time I wore a pair of girly flats: Jason looked at me all day with a slightly-smiling, head-tilted-to-the-side "awwww" face, and I got over my macho complex. Apparently I'm a sellout for the "awwww."

Something that still makes me feel like a man dressing as a woman, though? PURSES. I don't care how much "awwww" gets sent my way, I ABSOLUTELY CANNOT carry a purse. I can hardly even hold them for my friends when they need a free hand... they make me feel as awkward as Sylvester Stallone in tights and a tutu.

And, while it's not exactly the shocker of the century: above all else, blonde wigs REALLY make me feel like a drag queen.

Although.
That's how this shoe thing started out.

*Unless a giant boy in green tights grabs me & shakes me up & down like a pepper shaker to get my Tinkle-powder-or-whatever-it's-called so he can fly. What a friend YOU were, Pete, what. a. friend.

Thrift Therapy

I recently made a discovery that changed my life.

Goodwill sells randomly-colored coat hangers for 99¢ a dozen.

(And I realize they're just going to get reshuffled, but I couldn't help myself:

...then I re-randomized them, because I couldn't figure out how to get rainbow-organized hangers to mesh with a rainbow-organized closet.)

While my pal Kanette and I were at Goodwill, the coat hangers (and the atypical Oregon sunshine outdoors) inspired me to go on a spring-colored frenzy:

These three things were my sister's birthday presents (lucky shmuck). As far as I can tell, everything is serious vintage status. The shirt's tag is yellowed and totally faded, the cutesey drink coasters (6 of them) were still in their original packaging, and the rainbow lace belt has $*#% glitter on it. Enough said.

And the rest was mine. Damn, I love that soy-sauce spoon thing. This super-lucky Goodwill trip has me seriously considering opening an Etsy shop...

P.S. Jason was totally cool with me bringing home twenty plastic pink poppies. He rocks. However, when I texted him a shot of this mustard velvet chair, I found the limit to his tacky tolerance. The way he oh-so-delicately tried to tell me that it made him gag was pretty hilarious.