Last night, I was sharing some quality time with Mr W.
We were watching tv.
I felt myself involuntarily doing a double take as the 'parents' of the show came in and bent over the couch to kiss their 'children.' (I think we were watching "Surface" but he changes channels so quickly, who knows what it was...)
"You know," I said, "it used to be when I was little, I didn't always like watching tv because everyone was skinny and blonde, or jiggly and stupid (1970's cheesecake tv at its finest). Now, I don't always like watching tv because there's always a giant fake rack somewhere on any given show. It's not enough to have nice regular sized boobs anymore, they gotta be spec-tac-u-lar. It doesn't matter which show you watch, at least one chick will have a giant fake rack, and it'll be on full display because she will always have to bend over, at some point.
"And?" he's amused, but good enough not to state the obvious.
"I'm just saying, the grandma on the show doesn't need to look like a stripper, does she? And it's not just that, these chicks have had it all. Overhaulin' shouldn't just be a show on cable, it should be the title of a reality show where we see the actresses before and after."
Maybe I'm missing the point. (But four kids and smooshy body parts gravitating to places they weren't tend to make me nuts at times.)
He could only shake his head at me.
"Read your book." <as he smacks me on the butt>
Which for him translates into "quit bugging me."
He's so understanding.