See my hangover girl/She waters down the rain when I get home

I am, in a word, hungover. I painted for the first time in over ten years last night. It was awesome. I also got a bit inebriated. And I was with good people, listening to good music and watching good TV, eating rather good jalapeno hummus which has contributed to my rather intense beer shits today, two so far.
Dear god.
I wear a bathing suit for the first time in over a year on saturday. And when I wore it last summer, it was the first time in over five years. Christ. I need some pantaloons or similar. That's how much I hate my lower half and the wrinkled flesh that hangs just over my knees, the possibilities of a mini skirt dashed to the ground along with any hopes for not turning into my mother of the bunioned feet and dimpled thighs. (Sorry, Mom).
I do remember the first and only time I saw my mom naked. I think I could've handled it except for, well, the bush. It was massive and dark and scary.
"Well, excuse me!" my mom said, watching me stare.
I'd never seen such a thing before. It frightened me. I had to look away, even if my mom hadn't been embarrassed.
I'm suddenly horrified that I'm typing about my dead mother's pubes. Yikes.