Cow

Growing up my friend Steph and I would nickname our neighbors. One neighbor we dubbed, Bikini Lady.  She would wear her bikini in her front yard to garden, mow the lawn, play with her kids, read a book, and everything else.  Men, women and children in our neighborhood couldn't help but stare.  She had the perfect bikini body, which in the old days meant curvy.  A lot fell out of her bikini as she worked. I never actually spoke with Bikini Lady, but I often wondered what on Earth possessed that mom to go outside in her bathing suit long before and long after the weather was really appropriate for it.

Yesterday I was doing some yard work, I wore cotton shorts and a mismatched stained t-shirt.  The ensemble fit much better 50 pounds and 2 pregnancies ago.  I pitied any neighbor that might catch sight of me. Surely, it was not the pleasant view that Bikini Lady would have provided.

As I tried accomplishing my projects, I was sweating through my ratty outfit and had Isabella screaming in my face at various points.  And the annoying neighborhood kid that rides his bike in the road and through the intersection without looking was lurking around. I know I have warned that kid about bicycle safety enough times that he must have some nicknames for me.

I couldn't help thinking of another woman from the old neighborhood, one that Steph and I called Cow.  Well, Cow was an overweight, sloppy lady that often yelled at her own rambunctious kids as well as any neighborhood children that walked by her house.

For a moment I had to laugh - Karma sure is a bitch!