Couch Scandal....

Sunday night, while watching the Olympics, I found myself having trouble breathing. I felt stifled and air just didn't seem to be reaching my lungs, due to heavy pressure on my ribcage.

Why, you ask?

A little too much sugar lovin'.

(Don't be getting any dirty ideas.)

Abbs, Cort, and I had baked and decorated a bazillion sugar cookies, and we ate about 3/4 of a bazillion. In addition to the two helpings of delicious lasagna that we made for dinner. So you can see why my bra suddenly transformed into a straitjacket.

(Sorry, male readers--if there are any. Maybe you want to skip the rest of this story. Or not. Be my guest.) 

Obviously, the oppression was not to be tolerated, so in the midst of the pairs figure skating short program, I gasped out,

"Sorry, girls, it's coming off!"

(Abbie cheered me on.)

I unhooked the offending article of clothing and discreetly tucked it beneath a couch pillow. I begged them not to let me forget to take it back to my room, but then Abbs and I envisioned Ash's fiance accidentally finding it. Which resulted in shrieking, hysterical laughter, and a great desire to leave it hidden between the couch cushions. Abbie figured it would be good for him to get used to it, because we highly doubted that they would be able to make it through their wedding night, they are so innocent and pure.

(She and I have the dirty minds in this apartment.)

Which led to me commenting that Abbie wouldn't have a problem getting through hers.

Which led to a conversation on a choreographed wedding night.

Which led to a Shakira music video.

Which somehow led to the SNL Beyonce and Justin Timberlake "Single Ladies" skit.

So I leave you with these words:

"Pure"

(pronounced p-YORE)

and

"dance biscuits"

Yep.

PS. I did not leave my bra in the couch. As much as I wanted to.