If you have a five year old in home you know you’ll be awoken before the ass of dawn. You also know that monkey is the best damn snuggler. Weighing in at 53 pounds, arms wrapped tight around around your neck; guaranteed to knock your ass back out. But see, they are sneaky, sneaky lil bastards. Cute as the may be, lulling you back into that false sleep, only to roll over and knock your forehead or some other torturous way of waking you up. Upon sitting up, I squeeze my monkey, whisper good morning to my husband and begin weeping.
See, cancer is a motherfucker. I know it is there. I feel it mocking me, trying to take my spirit and zest.
Bad, bad boob! Damn you. What a stupid stunt you pulled. Cancer? Fucking cancer? Couldn’t you have given my a gnarly ingrown nipple hair instead of cancer? Seriously?
I will go through my Sunday much as many of you will today. Prepping your home for the holidays. Getting your Elf on the Shelf dusted and dapper. I will share laughs with my boys. Will probably haggle with the Christmas tree guy. I will be hugged when I need it and cry, a lot.
This holiday season I will be preparing my mind for my loss of breasts. Not gonna lie, it’s s total mindfuck.
Cancer be gone, damn you!