Posts Tagged ‘women’

With the apocalypse being only a day away Brian and I thought we should review our life insurance policies.

We crunched numbers, looked at pie charts, talked about savings plans, mutual funds, and short/long-term investments.


Get me to the part where I get money when a zombie eats Brian.

There was paperwork to fill out, t’s to cross, i’s to dot and the pressure to purchase more insurance than necessary was mounting.  Thanks to my sharp wit, dangerous glare, and also a few threats daring him to cross me, the stress was quickly eased.

I may have also threatened him with an elbow to the chin.

Yes really.

Important information was necessary and Brian went first. I drifted off into a dream land where all the bills were paid (true he was now a zombie and had to be locked in the basement and fed raw steak and ground beef but we were happy).

My turn came. Name, drivers license, another form of ID, age, height, weight.

I says pardon?



We’re done here.

I was in the middle of telling insurance man to pack up and leave, of informing him that no amount of coverage, Day of Rapture or not, was worth my telling him TO HIS FACE what I weigh, when Brian came back in the room.


No, I don’t. I waited for them to enlighten me.

Let me tell you something about insurance men. They will wait you out.

Brian wouldn’t let me kick him out and I wasn’t telling my weight so that man just sat patiently and waited.

Well played my friend.

We now have coverage.


I think even zombies are smart enough to know they should never ask a woman her weight.


Let's BEE Friends

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Whats That on your Lip?

After a painful appointment at the spa – because that’s how my spa appointments go, they’re painful and leave me full of flashbacks for months  – I was left to go home and heal.

Yes. I said heal.


Being a regular for laser therapy, massages, pedicures, and any other excuse to visit for pampering and 30 minutes to myself I had become comfortable with the staff.  With my courage up I finally asked about my pigment change above my upper lip (think Michael Jackson only on a white girl and on a smaller scale).

My amazing aesthetician assured me this could be done.

This could be done with little to no pain.

This would fix the pigment change.


There was pain.

There was the smell of burning.

My hands reached up in the air and my brain told me to grab the laser and shoot her with it.

I muscled through.

Once the treatment was over I went home with a burning lip, lots of cream, and hiding my face. I looked like I had fallen off my bike and run my face all the way down the road.

I was hideous.

I screamed it out as I looked in the mirror, angry with what I had done to myself.

Brian heard me.

Cats out of the bag.


“In here, I’ll be out in a minute.” I looked at myself one more time and considered camping out in the linen closet for the night but they would find me. They always find me.

I walked out to show him my beastly new look.

“Well hello señior!” He chuckled and snapped his fingers above his head while twirling a neat circle.

I was dumbfounded. This wasn’t shock and awe. The masses weren’t holding up crosses at my appearance, they were poking fun at it! Cause that’s so much better.

Brian leaned in to get a good look.

“Were you drinking chocolate milk in there?”

He burst into laughter. Thrilled with his attempt at humour.

Attempting not to giggle I reached deep into myself to remember what my lip looked like. The red/brown road rash, the burning, and the pain. Oh right! That wasn’t hard.

“Brian stop! This is serious!” I gave him my best serious face! This WAS serious!

“Leighann! Don’t give me that lip!”


“Hun, what would you do if I looked like this for the REST OF MY LIFE??” Really, what if this burn never goes away?

“Oh,“ He began, looking at me full of love and putting his hand around my shoulder, “I’ve started to consider that, I’m already calling you Ron in my head.”

Ahh. True love.

Seeing through the ugly and loving me.


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