Why is getting into shape not limited to New Year’s goal setting anymore when we can cover ourselves up with a slanket or a snuggie for three more months? Now we have to get in shape for freakin’ everything. Reunions in the Fall. All those judgmental eyes. Only my eyes are the most judgmental of all. Slimming down before the holidays so you can pile your plate with sausage balls with a modicum of self-respect. It’s hard enough to juggle sausage balls on your plate with dignity as it is. Donning a swimsuit for warmer climes for Spring break. And, of course, summer slimming. It’s ridiculous, I say! All this slimming-expectancy when I’m in my prime of Middle-age spread. It’s not fair. Where did my thighs go? Poor thighs. I wish I had a better explanation for them than “it could always be worse, dear”. And the muffin-top. It’s like a spill-way over here. And the squishy middle. “It’s like I’m squeezing a marshmallow when I hug you, mommy!” So sweet. And why do the tops of my hands look like elephant skin? As if Gay Chris wasn’t enough torture making me buy those True Religion jeans a size too small. If only I had those to cover my carcass about now. Can’t wear jeans in 106 degree weather, however.
And why can’t I spell anything? Is lack-of-spelling ability linked to being middle-aged and slimming-challenged? I would probably be without a job if I didn’t have spell-check to save me from my own incompetent spelling. Oh, well, maybe that’s one mystery that’s solved. Am I the only one who didn’t know how to spell “carcass”? The Spell-check police wanted to change it to “Caracus” or “caucus”. I don’t want to go to Venezuela, which apparently I also can’t spell without assistance. And I really don’t want to attend a political meeting. Fuckers. Like I don’t have enough problems over here with the aging and the lack of slimming and the middle-agedness. And before any of you stick a hot poker in my eye because I’m not a big girl, it’s the inner-critic that shouts the loudest. There is always someone else younger and faster. I just want to go all Kathy Bates in Fried Green Tomatoes on someone’s ass more lately. I’m older and I have more insurance.
I would be slimmer without that extra kidney. Or I could lose a half pound tomorrow by donating blood. Except then I’d eat those stupid Gradma’s cookies they give you in the recovery area when the old people with stickers hold you hostage for ten minutes…
If I wasn’t stuck in a cube in an over air conditioned office I could lay next to you by the pool and make you feel better about yourself.
Just wait until you hit menopause Jen!!!! It changes everything. So just as soon as you figure out a way to lose the love handles, you’re duped again by Mother Nature with hot flashes and waking up in pools of sweat!! And my belly??? Let’s just say, it’s atrocious. I refuse to do spell-check on that word. I’m rebelling against the middle-age brain farts we have in that area. it’s totally normal, Jen. And you look fabulous!! You’re spot on when you admit to being more judgmental about your body than anyone else is. There is no muffin top and I’m sure that was Devlin who hugged you and made the comment about the marshmallow. It sounds like something he’d say when he gives you one of those big squeeze-y hug like I’ve seen. What a sweetheart! Ok, so lighten up on the whole body image thing. I gave up on my 25 year-old physique… about 10 years ago. My hips will never be the same after birthing babies and I’m okay with that. Love yourself just the way you are!
I second that. All of it.