This weekend while Hubs and I were out of town, I took advantage of being in civilization to shop for a new sports bra. It was just time. I love the one that I have but now that I’m hitting the gym everyday I really needed a backup so that I could stop washing the one I have like a crazy person every other night.

I went to the store and grabbed a couple of styles and sizes with the help of sweet and teeny-tiny sales clerk who probably wasn’t even 21. I got into the dressing room and quickly decided which bra I wanted but The Girls were DYING. They couldn’t breathe and neither could I, so I stuck my head out the door.

Skinny Girl: Do you need another size?

Me: Yeah, this is a 38C and I think I need a 38D.

(Yes, I realize I’ve lost all sense of propriety and decency by talking about my boobs on the intranets. Ask me if I care. Hint: I don’t.)

SG disappears for a minute and comes back sticking a bra in the doorway.

Skinny Girl: Here, this is a 34D. Try it.

Me: Um. If the 38C was too small, that’s definitely not going to fit.

Skinny Girl: *looks confused*

Me: The cup size is bigger, but the band size is FOUR inches smaller.

Skinny Girl: *still looks confused* Oh.

REALLY? This is not rocket science, y’all. It’s simple math.

This weekend the Hubs and I are headed out of town ALL BY OURSELVES to go to a friend’s wedding reception. I am working my butt off, very literally, trying to lose “my baby weight.” (Yes, my *baby* is two. Shut. Up.)

At any rate, I’ve lost 3.5 pounds in the last two weeks and I don’t want to buy anymore clothes until I drop some more lbs. So in lieu of a new outfit for the par-tay, I opted for a spray tan.

It’s common knowledge that brown fat is much more attractive than white fat, so I figured I’d feel cuter in the same dress I’ve worn to every event for the last two years if I was slightly brown.

But here in The Wood we don’t have spray tanning booths. No ma’am. We have PEOPLE who will airbrush your body after you strip nekkid. (Oh yes, you read that co-rrectly. You get naked, they spray you down like a car needing a new paint job… or a mini-van. Or a tank… whatever, you get the idea.)So I just gritted my teeth, tried not to think about it too hard and walked right in the salon like nobody was about to see me nekkid. I made small talk with my friend who owns the shop and concentrated on my breathing.

The girl called me to the back. My heart was hammering in my chest as we walked down the hallway and she said, “I love your boots. Those are so cute!”

“Yeah, thanks. You’ll need to concentrate on how cute my boots are for the next ten minutes, cuz I’ll tell you what’s not cute: Me. Nekkid.”

They had given me a robe to use after I undressed in the bathroom, so I could walk to the screened off area where they spray you down. The robe was hanging on the corner of the screen, and as I stood there, reaching for the robe, I bumped the screen. Hard.

It wobbled unsteadily for approximately half of a second, but it was long enough for me to throw up in my mouth and for my heart to flatline. I was THISCLOSE to standing completely nekkid in front of everyone in the salon. The screen righted itself just as quickly as it wobbled and I almost cried out in relief.

“Thank you Jesus. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!”

I’m glad I did it, now. I am positively glowing. So what if my naked, fluorescent-white flesh has been burned permanently into the stylist’s memory?

What’s the craziest/scariest thing you’ve ever done to look good or feel better about yourself?