So I paused it. Went on a date with Ben & Jerry's, and now I'm back.
I've also finally made some epsom salt spray - I used this recipe - and don't you know I went the chamomile/lemon route because I'm always Hail Marying for highlights. Results: not in. My spray bottle kept getting clogged and leaking and the concoction would run down my arms, and I don't wash my hair regularly, so I can't experiment very easily with how much to use. Long story short: I'm basically Mrs. Paul Mitchell.
I'll probably just throw in the beach towel and buy some, but not before it sits in my Amazon cart for a couple weeks and I go through several cycles of buyer's guilt before I've even purchased it.
We all have our neuroses I suppose.
I don't shave my legs. Except for the very rare occasion, I haven't shaved in the last five years.
And this isn't like a hippy, crunchy thing. I'm not some kind of hairy feminist.
I got some waxing done when I was a blushing bride and went on a razor-free honeymoon, and after six weeks of hairless underarms, I was like: I'm never shaving again. So now I mostly epilate. Yes. It hurts. An Italian friend first introduced me to epilating. At about eight hairs in, I swore I'd never do it again. But once I'd had a couple waxes, it didn't hurt near as much, and now that I'm a few years in, I don't even flinch. And then I'm golden and hair-free for 6-8 weeks. Are there any other epiladies out there?
Lucy June talks a lot about my parents' animals. Their cat, Izzy, who scratched her (Izzy! ouch! Izzy! Hurting!) and also their dog, Beau. When we were at their house last, my parents tried to teach her how to give the dog commands, so now she randomly walks around our house lisping: "Shit, Beau! Shit! Shit, Beau!"
I know it won't last long. Good things never do.
And as titularly promised, here we are pushing 19 weeks.
And that's all for now.