Almost caught up

A joke the supervisor at my new job told me:
Dick Cheney walks into the Oval Office and says "George, it is my unfortunate duty to inform you that three Brazilians were just killed in Iraq". George Bush gasps and buries in head in his hands, murmuring "oh no, oh no." Finally he looks up, a little haggard, and says: "Tell me honestly, Dick- how many's in a Brazilian?"
Ba-boom-tish. You know, when my boss told me the set-up to that joke, I totally thought we were bound for some sort of waxing joke, and was pleasantly surprised.

Had it been a waxing joke, though, it would have been much more relevant to current events in my life, as I recently went and endured one of those "Brazilian" wax thingys. It was far less unpleasant than I was expecting, and strangely addictive in that way that they have no problem encouraging you to book your next appointment cos you're all high from the pain and in no position to make rational decisions.

It is an odd thing to have decided to do, but you know? I figured it would be worth a shot: if it helped resolve one of my most enduring minor body-image issues, it would be worth it, and if it didn't, well, I could chalk it up to research. At this point I am quite happy with the result (although far from the orgasmically enthusiastic reviews I have heard from other fans of the full wax). I figure I'll give it another go, if it is in fact easier and less painful on consecutive visits, I might add it to my "annoying body maintenance tasks" list. That list involves such unpleasant necessities as getting my hair cut (hate! hate! argh! hate it so much! hairdressers are demon-spawn and salons are the middling pits of hell!), buying vitamins, and sucking it up to go browse make-up counters.

Boi has left, not me but the city, which is very sad. We spent a sunny (and mildly sunburnt) last weekend together. He'll be back, which makes me happy and optimistic, and I suspect I need the intervening few weeks to get back into a few self-care habits, things that fall far too easily to the side when you're falling head over heels into shiny-happy-new love.

I came very close to adopting the world's most ridiculously cute ball of fluff over the weekend, and the danger period has not yet passed. I'm thinking about it (am I ready to be a dog-parent? Am I ready to make all future housing and travel decisions based on the fur-kid's wellbeing?) and have been doing frantic research into puppy training, puppy maintenance and safe puppy environments. I will, of course, keep you posted: if that bouncing prancing twinkly little thing becomes mine, photos will inevitably be posted.