That's the truth. I just got finished driving down a parkway with no lights in the pouring rain and I have absolutely no desire to do anything but decompress.
As soon as I reclined against my pillows to think about my impossible schedule tomorrow morning, I realized two things. My eyes hurt. That's one. I squinted the whole time I was driving trying to keep sight of the lane markers and praying I wouldn't hydroplane off the parkway. Roads up here aren't made of the proper material for rain and it get really treacherous. I get really anxious driving at night.
But most urgently, my bra hurts. I am officially at the point where the most relaxing thing I can do at the end of a hard day, or even in the middle of one, is to unsnap my bra. This is a relatively recent phenomenon. Well into my mid-thirties my bra size was wholly unremarkable. But around three years ago, the girls took off. I need substantial trussing-up. Cute, novelty lingerie is completely out of the question. And I have tried. Just a few days ago, I bought some naughty unmentionable thinking, hey what the hell. I got the thing home, put it on and promptly spilled over the top. I need a grown-woman, industrial grade bra.
Once I take off this bra, my day is over. So I may as well turn out the light and call it a night.