So I was standing in my closet, getting dressed for the day.

I pulled on my favorite pair of jeans and noticed they were tight. Like too tight to button. And naturally I convinced myself that I couldn’t button them because they had just been washed. You know, cuz jeans totally shrink when you dry them. I mean, it couldn’t have *anything* to do with the amount of calories I took in last week versus how many I put out.

That would be ridiculous.

And involves some form of math and we all know I’m terrible at math. But I’m pretty sure the results would be astoundingly depressing.

Anyway, I finally managed to get them fastened, then proceeded to do the whole bend and stretch routine to loosen them up a bit.

And that’s when I blew out the whole crotch. In rock star fashion.

Behold. The jeans that used to not be ripped in the crotch.

Just then Ethan walked in right as I was bent over, observing the damage.

He shook his head and said, “You’re going to need a really big band-aid.”

Agitated with myself, I unbuttoned my jeans, kicked them off, and threw them across the closet. They landed in the corner with a sad little thud.

Ethan watched in awe as I threw a mini tantrum.

He looked at the jeans and then back at me. “What’s the matter, Mama?”

“I’ll tell you what’s wrong. I’m too fat for my clothes right now. I ate too much last week.”

He looked at my half naked body and said, “You’re not fat, Mommy.”

I managed a smile. I mean he *is* the most adorable little man on the planet. “Thanks for saying that, E. You really don’t think I’m fat?”

“Well, maybe just a little bit.”

And then he ran out of the closet.

For sale: One adorable little boy who *may* or *may not* fully grasp the art of lying flattery.

PS. I would never eat a sandwich that my dog made me because I know for sure that he eats his own shit. What, you really think I’d eat something a *dog* made? I bet you think I’d eat out of the trash can too, huh. Oh, wait.

Today I’m seeing my gynecologist for my 4 week post hysterectomy exam. Which is just a fancy way of saying my doctor will have both of her hands and a couple of salad spoons shoved up my vagina. For medical purposes of course.

Which is awesome.

I’m *really* looking forward to it.

You know what this means though, don’t you. I have to shower. For obvious reasons. And if it’s *not* obvious why I must shower before going to the vag doc, then you’re a man–or a disillusioned woman.

Anyway, I’m over at Aiming Low today. Go there and read about how women misrepresent themselves. Thanks, Nazi Trainer, for the blog fodder. It’s nice to see you’re good for something other than inflicting Japanese water torture on innocent blondes.

Oh, and just for fun, I thought I’d share what Monday night looks like at the Glenn house.

Don’t judge me.

Sometimes pie *IS* the answer.

if you’ve been here for awhile, you know how much i love working at the homeless shelter. tommy and i wanted to do something nice for the people who’ve captured our hearts, so i came up with the idea to make my famous key lime pie cheesecake (the recipe that’s in the back of my book, heaping spoonful). so with the help of some of our friends (thanks tabitha, monika, and tamara!), we cranked out 82 pies! it was fun, but exhausting! i felt like i’d been hit by a truck! needless to say, it will be awhile before i get a craving for key lime cheesecake. something about making 82 of them in one day will do that to a person.