One Thing Which Does Not Concern Me in the Slightest

I’m a worrier. I inherited this trait from my mother, who, frankly, is Olympic-class. Good lord, that woman can worry!

Part of getting a handle on my health means being realistic about the things I should worry about (i.e. the things I can control) and giving up to the universe the things I can’t. Sorry about that, universe, I know you carry a heavy load, and I really appreciate it.

I was thrilled, on a day packed with all kinds of grim news, to find a story in the New York Times outlining the next thing women have to worry about that I immediately knew I could strike from my list:


Life is waaaaaaaay too short to worry about cleavage wrinkles.

I’m not saying that a little device like The Kush might not come in handy if you were recovering from surgery, or dealing with breasts swollen from breast feeding. And as a well-endowed woman, I am intimately familiar with the many ways large breasts can create real physical discomfort in a woman’s daily life. But I’m not going to sleep with what looks like a dildo tucked between my breasts (and hey, is that thing BPA-free?) or get twice-yearly $700 shots of youth serum to avoid cleavage wrinkles.

OK, I’ve had my hearty laugh for the morning.

By the way, I’m in the 212 range on the scale now (remember, I’m not counting 1/10s of pounds, hence 212 range). I’m just down 1/2 a pound from the last 5 or 6 days, but I’m hoping I’ve finally moved off the plateau. We’ll see.

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