Easter Candy: A Tribute

We all have different religious beliefs when it comes to the spring holidays, but I hope we can agree on one basic belief: Candy is awesome!

I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to incorporate any candy into my diet this year. I hope I can put some of my bonus 49 Weight Watchers points toward jelly beans on Sunday, but I'm not sure I'll be able to.

But looking at candy is calorie-free! And I might even burn some calories typing away about my thoughts on Easter candy. Right?

So, I present my guide to Easter candies!

1. Peeps


Peeps are arguably the quintessential Easter candy. When I think of Peeps, I can't help but think of my former college roommate and current friend, Ashley, who loves Peeps more than anybody else I know.Now , when Ashley and I were roommates, I did not appreciate Peeps. (Well, actually, she was probably glad I didn't appreciate them then, because she could be certain I wouldn't steal any.) I used to be pretty grossed out by the combo of sugar and marshmallow, as well as by the weird waxy chocolate eyes. But then something happened after college that transformed my beliefs on Peeps: I started dieting off and on, and my standards for candy got lower. And it turns out, Peeps are often a good diet-friendly option for when you want a little bit of junk. (Or, I should say they are a not-as-bad diet-friendly option.) And now I love Peeps so much that I'd probably eat my own arm if it were made of marshmallow dipped in artificially-colored sugar. (In this situation I guess my fingernails would be made of the waxy chocolate.)

The fun thing about Peeps are that you can use them in all kinds of fun recipes and crafts. They're obviously good in any situation where you'd use a marshmallow, such as in hot chocolate or s'mores:

I found this as I was browsing online for candy pics. Look at the cute pink bunny tucked into her little graham cracker bed!

And also see the Peeps site for recipes like a Peeps swimming pool cake and Peeps sushi.

2. Chocolate Bunnies



Chocolate bunnies are hit-and-miss. While chocolate bunnies are always cute in an Easter basket, some of them are made of really gross chocolate. See, like this guy looks a little too waxy:


Whereas this one looks like it might be made of a good-quality dark chocolate:

And I wanted to mention that Philosophy makes a shower gel called Chocolate Bunny, which smells heavenly. Unfortunately, the Macy's at my mall only had the tester, and the clerk told me they never got a shipment of the Chocolate Bunny shower gels to sell in the store. I did find it as part of this set, which also includes Sugar Chick and Orange Jelly Bean. (They all smell awesome.)

3. Cadbury Creme Eggs

I realize some people hate these, but I love them. I have a family story about the Cadbury Creme Egg. When I was in high school, my stepdad had a package of Cadbury Creme Eggs. It must have been a few weeks after Easter, when they were no longer sold in stores, because I very badly wanted one of those eggs. I need to explain that at the time I was a straight-A student and a bit of an uptight perfectionist. So, my stepdad told me that he would give me one of the eggs if I got a "C" grade on something at school. ("C" is for Cadbury!) Not worth it.

Oh, and here's a picture of the Cadbury Creme Egg truck:

Imagine the giant blog of yellow and white goo that would come out of the center of that big egg.

P.S. I find the annual commercials about the different animals trying out to be the Cadbury bunny very annoying.

4. Various Versions of Regular Candy, Easter-ified




Pretty pastel colors, classic candies: What's not to love? My husband also believes that the Reese's egg has a better chocolate-to-peanut-butter ratio than a regular Reese's cup. And the Snicker's egg has a sports theme, so it promotes health and exercise. As in, you'll have to play a lot of sports to burn off the calories in this Snicker's egg.

5. Brach's Jelly Beans

My favorite Easter candy! Look, I can appreciate the innovation of Jelly Belly when it comes to jelly bean flavors (although they could have stopped short of Buttered Popcorn and that Harry Potter booger flavor). But sometimes I like a good, classic giant jelly bean, one where you know that the purple is grape and the red is cherry. I like to suck on the jelly bean until the outer sugary coating is gone, and then chew the gooey clear center. See, no matter what the color of the jelly bean, they're all clear in the center. Something to think about when it comes to race relations.

I'd like to conclude with a brief mention of the candy at your local fancy boxed chocolate stores. Fannie May, See's, and the like all have their own delicious chocolate eggs filled with various delicious stuff. It would be too much to mention all of them, but I'd like to say that when it comes to the caramel/marshmallow hybrid, the See's Scotchmallow way trumps the Fannie May Carmarsh, name-wise. Carmarsh makes me think of either Carmex lip balm or a car wash, neither of which sound all that appetizing. But then, it's not like "Fannie" conjures up images of deliciousness, either.

And I'm not sure writing about all this candy was the best dieting tactic after all. Now I kind of want to eat my laptop. Or, you know, go to the store to buy some actual candy. Either way.

For-the-First-and-Possibly-Last-Time Wordless Wednesday: My Creatures

Just a Boring Account of My Day, Because It's Good to Keep Track and Whatnot

I decided to start going to Weight Watchers meetings regularly on Monday mornings. I needed a little more regularity in my dieting schedule. I have two friends who go on Mondays, and I figured the peer pressure would keep me honest.

I was disappointed in my weight loss this week, given how (mostly) disciplined I was last week. On the other hand, I hadn't weighed in for about three weeks, and during those three weeks my eating was really up and down, so who's to say how much I really lost last week? In the end, I was down after three weeks, and even though I wasn't down as far as I wanted to be, I guess the most important thing is that my weight is going in the right direction.

The leader gave us an interesting assignment for the week. You are supposed to fill out the paper tracker (the little booklet where you write down everything you eat), and then next week we are going to trade trackers and look at what other people ate. I kind of like this assignment, because it is really keeping me honest. I have been enjoying using the online tracker, but I'm much more thorough in my records on the paper one now that I know others are going to see it. So, like, I'm filling out the parts where you keep track of how many fruits/vegetables you eat, how much water you drink, and so on.

I also like how trading trackers will give us new food ideas. People often make food suggestions in the meetings, and those are helpful, but it's the same people speaking up every single week. By trading around the trackers, we'll get to see what a lot of people are eating. And I like to think I'm giving some good suggestions, because I've been cooking a lot this week out of the Weight Watchers cookbook.

Unfortunately I had to bring Nathan to the meeting, which is something I haven't done since he was a baby and could be kept occupied with a big carrot to chew on. He had a slight cold today, and therefore was extra annoying. He will not be coming to Weight Watchers again, at least not until he's older and fatter and needs to lose weight himself, probably with his future wife.

In an attempt to get some activity points on my soon-to-be-public tracker, I went swimming at the gym after the meeting. I kicked some ass, beating yesterday's 2,700-yard swim by a whole 100 yards!

But then we finished the gym at about noon, and I started to feel guilty that I had spent the whole morning doing things for myself. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know.

We ate lunch. I made two batches of Rice Krispie treats with M&Ms for Nathan's school bake sale. I have mixed feelings about bake sales. I mean, they're cute and nostalgic and embody the true spirit of grassroots community fundraising, but at the same time it is a lot of work to make stupid baked goods. (I only call them "stupid" because I'm on Weight Watchers and can't eat any of them.)

After lunch I took Nathan to his high school program, and then I somewhat guiltily took a nap during my free hour. Then I picked Nathan up and went home and cooked. And cooked and cooked and cooked. Or, you know, it felt like that. I made a Weight Watchers meatloaf that we're going to eat tomorrow night, because tomorrow I want to take Nathan to have his picture taken with the Easter Bunny, and I didn't think I'd have a full 90 minutes to make a meatloaf tomorrow.

But for tonight's dinner I made crepes. I topped them with strawberries and whipped cream, and I made eggs and hash browns with them. I really think I eat too many eggs. I'm probably on the verge of a cholesterol problem. Which would make me the only person in the world to end up with a health problem because of losing weight.

I decided, as per this week's tip in the Weight Watchers literature, to pre-track my eating for tomorrow. I wrote down everything I am going to eat, and the exercise I'm going to do. Which I feel uneasy about. I'm very superstitious about making plans for the future like that. I worry that I'll get some sort of injury in the morning before the gym, and then I won't be able to do the exercise I planned, even though I already wrote it down, dammit, I already wrote it down.

So, I used all this energy going to Weight Watchers and exercising, as well as cooking, planning, measuring, and tracking my food, and now I'm too tired to do anything else. I'm failing at my goal to do some alleged professional activity. I feel selfish and overwhelmed. I feel like trying to lose weight is like a part-time job.

The end.

Super Ima Oops-I-Fell-Asleep-on-Sunday Check-in

Let me begin by congratulating our Super Ima host Leigh Ann on some really awesome news she got RE: the potential publishing of her YA novel this week! Also it was her birthday this past week, so go over and wish her well!

Now, as the title of this post suggests, I fell asleep Sunday night without doing my Super Ima check-in. The weekend picked up after my Saturday slump, and the whole thing tired me out tremendously.

Despite my bad attitude that day, date night turned out to be pretty awesome (in a strictly G-rated way). We went out to dinner at our local slightly-nicer-but-not-too-fancy place. I ended up being a bad Weight Watcher (shocker), although I did eat seafood like I promised I would. We got the shrimp de jonghe appetizer, followed by the lobster bisque, and then I got tilapia stuffed with crab as an entree. (Bill got ribs, which this place has a special patented plate for, so it's an entree that encompasses two of Bill's interests: ribs and intellectual property law.) Oh and I ate approximately half a loaf of bread (remember my weakness around bread baskets), and for dessert I ate some jelly beans in the car.

Anyway, we actually got the opportunity to have some decent conversations. We talked about some stuff going on at Bill's work, and I discussed my ongoing What the hell should I do with my life? struggles. Not that we came to any conclusions on the latter issue, which is unfortunate because you'd think for a $70 dinner and a $30 babysitting bill, you could at least come away with some decent answers.

We didn't end up going to the movies, just because the timing didn't work out, and we didn't want to see anything badly enough to pay another $30 in babysitting fees.

On Sunday I had the swim of my life at the gym. Okay, not so much the swim of my life, but the swim of maybe the last two years. I swam a whopping 2,700 yards, which is probably like a warm-up for Michael Phelps, but is pretty good for me. That's 1.5 miles, which is half of what I'd have to swim if I did this 5K lake swim in September. (Of course, there's the issue of pool-swimming versus lake-swimming, which is a boring technical discussion that nobody wants to have right now.)

Then the family and I went to the mall, where I once again fell victim to some Bath & Body Works sales schemes. They were having the buy 3, get 3 free sale (you know, like they do like half the time), which is especially dangerous because I really only want two things, but then I figure if I just buy one more, I could actually get 4 more for the same price. Then I get home and realize that I have approximately 12 Bath & Body Works products, a total possibly only reached one other time, after Christmas 1996, and that I really need to stop buying bath products.

So, as you can see, it was a very full Sunday, and that's why I fell asleep without doing my check-in.

Last week's goal was pretty dumb anyway. It was just Be Happy. Which is always a good goal, but kind of a poorly-defined one, and one that is difficult-if-not-impossible to measure. When I wrote that goal I was exhausted and frazzled from my Snow White performances, and it was a miraculous 85 degrees out, so my brain was too hot to think.

Oh well, no problem with heat today! It snowed this morning.

So, I do think I was pretty happy overall this week, with the exception of some frustrating swims and my poor Technorati ratings. Which, I think we can agree, are the worst problems ever, worst in the sense that they barely qualify as problems. So, I was pretty happy, I think. I kind of wonder if part of my happiness had to do with my (mostly) rigid adherence to Weight Watchers. Many people say that if you don't snack incessantly on simple carbohydrates (or as I like to call them, "love"), you will feel better. Could those people be right? Dammit, I hate when people are right.

But I also think there's something calming and reassuring about order and predictability, all of which comes from planning and tracking your meals. So maybe that's why I was happy. But I do remember thinking sometime this week, "Man, this weather is really crappy. I'm so glad I don't have to worry about this causing a deep depression anymore." I call that progress.

This week I think I'm going to set a goal based on some sort of professional activities. Leigh Ann has done a great job carving out time to write, and she has three kids and they are all under three. So I should be able to try harder to carve out time for myself in my one-kid life.

Therefore, my goal this week is to spend one hour per day on some sort of professional-ish, non-childcare, non-housework, non-cooking activity. I need to try harder with Technorati and with Blogcritics, not that those pay you or anything, but at least I'm working on getting blog hits.

Anyway, I always hesitate to set a goal with a time-based measurement, because even when I will be spending the time doing something enjoyable, it ends up feeling like an obligation. Oh crap, it's 4:00 and I haven't spent an hour doing X yet! But you're supposed to set measurable goals, right?

Right. So that's my goal.

Saturday Bullet Points of Sadness

Continuing with my "Problems of the Problemless" theme:

• It's never fun to wake up in the morning and realize that all you have to look forward to is a treadmill workout, a trip to the grocery store, cleaning out the garage, and general household chores.
• My Technorati ranking is SO LOW. So low. I don't know what happened, but overnight I jumped from the 9,000th most popular blog to the 25,000th (rounding here). This is my worst ranking ever, and I know it's really dumb, but it makes me sad. Where's the love for Same Old Shannon?
• The weather is just crappy. So cold. I feel like I've never been this cold in my life, even though I know that's not true. What is true is that I mentally swore off my winter coat, and now I'm freezing in my spring coat.
  
• Seriously, why is my blog ranked so low? Why, why, why, WHY?!
  

Breathe deeply, count to ten, and write a blog about it

So last night when I was hob-nobbing with the more influential (see post below this one), my kid was up too late waiting to pick me up at the train station with his father. As a result of his late bedtime, today that kid is a big fat tired crab.

To recap: My kid is off his sleeping schedule because I was out having fun. Oh, hello there, Mom Guilt, I hadn't seen you in about 15 minutes.

So today Nathan is playing such greatest hits as "Refusal to Put on Pants" and "Dumping Out Containers of Toys."

But recently some anonymous commenter kind of subtly-but-not-that-nicely pointed out that I should keep my bad parenting stories off the Internet because someday the only online legacy of my kid's childhood would be a journal of horror stories.

So, I'm going to talk about something else.

But speaking of big fat crabs, Bill and I are going to eat some of them tomorrow! That's right, we're actually going on a date night, and I'm so proud of myself for getting a babysitter and planning something that might allow us to reconnect after two weekends in a row of Bill being out of town. Well, I wouldn't say planning, exactly, because I haven't really figured out all the details of what we're doing. All I know is that I want to eat seafood, because it's a good Weight Watchers food. As my mom always says, "Fish is your friend." (Elmo has a fish friend too, but he probably wouldn't want to eat her.) But we haven't even decided which seafood restaurant we're going to. I'm lobbying for Joe's Crab Shack, largely because they do not serve bread or any other sort of forced, free appetizer that I would inevitably eat and blow my whole attempt at a Weight Watchers-friendly meal. Bill wants to try this new, local seafood place, which has everything going for it except an unknown bread basket status.

You might be asking, "Why can't she just go to a place that has bread but not eat any?" See: limited willpower. Also, Weight Watchers would tell me that I should just call the local seafood place and inquire as to their bread basket policy, or simply state up front to the server that I don't want bread. Yes, these are the same people who brought you a brochure where the following dialogue takes place:

Dieter: Can you tell me how that chicken is prepared?
Server: Yes, we cook it in olive oil.
Dieter: Do you know about how much?
Server: Yes, about a tablespoon.

And then you are supposed to calculate the WW points in the 3-ounce chicken breast, plus the 1 tablespoon of olive oil. Oh, and you might want to add in the points value of the server's saliva, because he surely will spit in your food after you asked a bunch of asinine questions that presumably took him several trips back and forth to the kitchen to find all the answers to.

Moving on ... After eating dinner somewhere, we're going to a movie. I'm going to let Bill pick the movie, because you know what the movie trailers always say: "If you only go to one movie this year, it should be one your husband picks." But also I don't feel all that strongly about any of the movies that are out right now, and Bill does, so I'm gonna be a good wife and just let him pick.

And actually, I did see one other movie this year, just this week, actually. I finally took Nathan to see Hop. And I had some serious LOL moments during that movie. Not to mention it was incredibly cute and had several stunningly colorful scenes of a candy factory. You might be wondering what my kid thought of it. Well, about 30 minutes into it, and every 15 minutes or so thereafter, he said, "I don't like this movie. I want to go." And then around 2/3 of the way through the movie and at least three "I hate this"s later, I said I had to go to the bathroom and Nathan said, "But nooooooooooo! We'll miss part of the movie!" Then when the movie was over, he said he really liked it.

???????????????

I also want to say that now that I don't get to movies as often (this week notwithstanding, apparently), I just really love the movie-going experience all the more. I like the comfortable seats and the dark theater and the big screen. I also like the popcorn and soda, although I'm proud to say that I did BYO for the popcorn at Hop, for Weight Watchers reasons. The sneaking in of food to the movies, BTW, is a little bit of a tricky parenting moment. I had to tell Nathan that I was hiding the popcorn because you weren't supposed to bring your own food to the movies, which was basically saying, "Yeah, your mom's a liar and a cheat." But I grew up with parents who brought their own food to the movies, and I still respect them and regard them as honest, decent human beings. The trick is to make your kid think that the food at the movies is so ridiculously unhealthful and overpriced that bringing your own would be the only decent thing to do.

Also, the movies are now offering a $7 healthy food snack-pack, which appeared to consist of a popcorn-chip hybrid and some kind of dried fruit. Now, here's the thing. The only reason to pay the exorbitant prices at the movie theater concession stand is it's freaking delicious. Why would I pay too much for dried apples? I could sneak those in my purse, thank you very much.

But I digress. Anyway, that's our date night. Crab and a movie.

And apparently I'm not the only one who is challenged by date night. I read lots of blog posts where people are trying harder to do date nights, the most recent being by a nice woman named Emily who I met last night at the bra event. Except Emily's date night was sponsored by Cottonelle toilet paper, whereas my date night will be sponsored by my Target Visa card.

Which brings me to the topic of more powerful and influential bloggers. Today I started reading some of the blogs written by people who I met last night, and they are all so very sophisticated and have sponsorships and giveaways and stuff. I feel so overwhelmed thinking about how much I don't know about that whole world of blog-based networking/PR/branding/social media strategy/insert-technical-term-I-don't-know. I seriously don't even know how I ended up on the guest list for the party last night.

But, just as all the more influential bloggers do, I will do my best to create an honest, interesting site. I aim to provide both entertainment and support. And even if I'm never influential, at least I am happy writing this blog.

In a segue that will become obvious later, I want to talk about a forwarded email that my friend Lenore sent me this week. This email basically used a difficult swimming workout as a metaphor for any difficult, overwhelming life task. The gist of it was that even when you feel tired and overwhelmed by the number of yards you are endeavoring to swim, you just put one arm in front of the other, one stroke at a time. You don't have to worry about the entire workout right now, you just have to worry about the next stroke. And, as I'm sure has become very obvious to you by now, the metaphor for life here would be that you will get overwhelmed and quit if you worry about doing everything, but you can always do one thing, the next thing.

The ironic thing about Lenore's email was that I received it at a time when I was frustrated with actual swimming, as well as with other things that swimming might be a metaphor for. I have wanted to write an entire post about how frustrated I have been lately with swimming, but it seemed like the topic of swimming troubles would be (1) not universally appealing, and (2) a Problem of the Problemless. But yes, I have been emotional about my swimming lately. Perhaps because swimming is my greatest strength, athletically-speaking, I get much more upset when I have a bad swimming workout than when I have, say, a bad treadmill workout. (And really, who's all that emotionally attached to the treadmill anyway?) And then on Wednesday things got so frustrating when I attempted to swim laps during an aquacize class, because I am not exaggerating when I say that 23 senior citizens walking in a circle creates a current in the pool that is quite formidable to swim against. With each successive lap, I got angrier and angrier. I thought the formidable current would end after the seniors finished their walking portion of the class, as is usually the case, except there was a new instructor who was partial to a lot of current-making exercises. They jogged in circles! Again and again! And then there was a point where they all did upright push-ups against the pool wall, and that sent a wave crashing into my lane that pushed me to the right. That was when I gave up, but an hour later I still had the sensation that I was being pushed to the right. (Insert Fox News joke here!)

And I don't want to spend too much time in what Leigh Ann once hilariously called Overreaching Analogy Land, but my frustration with swimming is kind of a metaphor for my frustrations about What to Do With My Life. You guys know that, more than anything, I would like to find a job where I could put my writing skills to use. I'm talking about something vaguely creatively fulfilling, not writing car repair manuals or something like that. (Because I'm pretty sure nobody wants to read a car repair manual that says something like, "Locate hood poppy-uppy button and pull. Find curvy tube thingy and remove it will all the physical force you can muster. Show tube to husband, who will then be so horrified that he will finally be motivated to take the car to the repair shop. Then sit on couch and bask in smugness.")

Anyway, yes, writing. I'd like to be a writer. But I'm overwhelmed by all the rejection I will get if I go the traditional route. And I would love to go the "blogs to riches" route, but I look at all these other influential people whose blogs are like high-tech flame torches to my blog's rubbing two sticks together (still in Overreaching Analogy Land), and I just feel so overwhelmed that I want to give up and go watch more TLC programming.

But I remind myself that I don't have to do everything, I just have to do something. So, this week I signed up to write for Blogcritics, where I can at least spew out my opinions on TV and books to a larger audience.

And, as you can see in my sidebar, I got tickets to go to BlogHer San Diego in August. I've never been to BlogHer before, not even when it was in Chicago. And I feel guilty about the cost, except I'm sure by August I'll be very influential and find somebody to sponsor me. Right? I mean seriously, I'm open to sponsorship by companies that make embarrassing personal products. I'm good at incorporating your product name into cute little slogans like, "Tucks pads: Because sometimes blogging is a pain in the ass," or, "Tampax: make your period into an exclamation point!"

Anybody?

Holy Double D-cups, Batman!

In my house growing up, my mom and I had a running joke with my stepdad. If we were discussing something vaguely girly-like, we would just tell him we were talking about "bras and panties" and he would leave. So, warning: this post is about bras and panties. The menfolk might want to vamoose.

As previously mentioned, last night I was invited to my best blogger freebie event to date: a gathering sponsored by undergarment company Wacoal where I got my boobs measured and ended up with a free bra. Prior to the event, I had the following conversation with my husband:

Me: So, I'm excited to get a free bra because it's like a $50 value.

Bill: No way, bras come in like a six-pack for $10, like underwear.

Me: No, I'd say $50 is about the average cost for a bra. I do have some that were on sale at Target for $15, but it's not unheard of for bras to cost in the hundreds of dollars.

Bill: No way!

And it went on like this. He, a person who has presumably never purchased nor worn a bra, insisted that he knew more about the cost of bras than I did, even though I have been buying and wearing bras for years.

Oh well, that conversation gave me a good anecdote to tell at the Wacoal event.

So, the deal on the event was that a bunch of way-more-influential bloggers and I huddled together in a small hotel room where they had some fancy cheeses and a bar. And then each person got called, one at a time, to go get her boobs measured in a little room by a stranger. After we found out our bra sizes, we got a form to order a bra in that size, which would later be shipped to our homes.

Now, let me say I was very grateful for the bar part, because networking with strangers and having my boobs touched by another stranger are not two activities that rank high on my comfort list. So I was glad for a little liquid courage at the event.

But everybody else was very nice, and I even passed out a few of my pretty new springlike business cards. As a side note, I'm also not a natural business-card-hander. You know, like people who just have business cards like they're an extension of their own arms?

So, after eating more than my share of cheese and brownies (What? It was my Weight Watchers bonus 49 points day!), it was my turn with the measurement lady. And here's the shocker ...

It turns out I should be wearing a DD cup.

I have always purchased C-cup bras. And I have always had a self-image based on being a wearer of C-cup bras. Like, seriously, I have never thought of myself as a bigger-boobed person. I just throw on any old sports bra to work out, because I figured as a medium-breasted woman I didn't need to worry that much about support.

So now my whole self-image is destroyed. Apparently I have large breasts. As in, the largest breasts for which you can buy a regular bra in the "average figure" section. But I think maybe when I lose weight (I've taken to saying when and not if), my boobs will probably shrink.

Which is a shame, because thanks to last night's event, I will finally have a nice, not-purchased-from-Target bra in the correct size. Oh, and somewhat disappointingly, I had to get a bra with wide, padded straps, which is something I kind of associate with old ladies. But apparently those are the kind of straps that come on big-ass DD bras.

Also, I have never, not once, owned a bra where the straps didn't fall down from my abnormally-sloped shoulders. According to Bra-Fitter Sue, that is because I should be wearing a bra where the straps are somewhat contoured in the back, like this:

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So, that's the back view of my new Wacoal bra.

I was a little bit disappointed that Wacoal didn't give me a free bra to give away in a contest to you guys. Apparently you needed to bring a blogging friend to the event in order to get another bra to give away. I tried to pretend this random woman next to me was my friend, but the Wacoal lady wasn't buying it. So, sorry you guys, I don't have any bras for you.

I do want to give a shout-out to my mom for teaching me how to correctly get your breasts into a bra in the dressing room. Fitter Sue told me to bend over and grab the cups while you shake your boobies until they're situated, and I told her I already knew how to do that because my mom taught me. Tina Fey says her mom fitted her for her first bra by trying the bra on her outside of her clothes. So, my mom is awesome.