Apparently this is my 200th post. I realized around post 130 that it's a blogging tradition to tell 100 things about yourself (really, you all care that much? don't I tell you enough day-to-day?), so I was well relieved that I made it past that milestone blissfully unaware of my bloggerish responsibilities. So, here we are at 200. Is there something (which doesn't require much of me) that I'm s'posed to do now?

How 'bout I just tell you all about my most recent embarassing moment? (They happen too frequently for me to narrow it to one most embarassing of my life) Yeah, sounds good to me.

Yesterday, I had an appointment with the physical therapist for some lingering issues from a really stupid stunt in a bounce house in college days (and, in case you are wondering, I was completely sober--just stupid). Anyhow, if you've been to the PT or perhaps even a chiropractor of a certain training, you've probably experienced the odd manipulations of your body that they consider therapeutic. Well, Pat, the 20-something tall, dark, moderately handsome, single PT pretzeled me up in various ways during my appointment yesterday...when I felt a certain "pop" near my sternum. A pop I have actually experienced once before. No, it wasn't from a button popping (that happened last week and I learned my lesson and wore a t-shirt this time). If you recall a certain scene with a tantruming toddler at a ToyRUs, you may have already recognized the pop. It was my front-closure bra. Popping open. And, ya know, that elastic back of the bra, well, it just makes things interesting. Fortunately, ol' Pat had to make some notes ("Inform mother and sister that front-closing bras create interesting scenes") and turned his back to me. I tried to discreetly reassemble myself, through my shirt. Nope. No such clumsy fumbling (think reverse of teenage boy meeting his first front-closing bra--yipes) would possibly serve the purpose. So, I mumbled, "Excuse me a moment" lest he turn and get an eyeful. Of course, the mumble made him turn to me. AWK-ward! So, he lightens the tension with a chuckle and "Falling apart there?" I blushed to the roots of my hair and gasped out a little giggle.

I'll be having a bra-burning this weekend.

Pat later commented on how cute my pink Crocs were and that his girlfriend would just die for them. Way to get the girlfriend into the conversation there, Pat. Yeah.