Every Spring I notice that I have gained weight. I hibernate like a grizzly all winter and then I emerge as one. I know it all winter long, but I choose to ignore it and start wearing huge elastic waist pajamas as soon as I hit the front door after work. I graze all day on salty, then sweet, then salty to cut the sweet, then sweet to freshen up the salty. I rationalize not walking my daily five-mile trek. It’s too cold, it is going to get dark before I get back…I’m tired….I worked so hard today…is there any cake left?…blah, blah. I fool myself with lies. My jeans are tight….oh, these have always been tight….I must be retaining fluid…milkshakes, beer, eggnog, you know….fluid.
Why do I do this to myself every year? During the pleasant weather months I faithfully walk five miles a day. I try to eat right, but I can never lose that last 50 pounds….yeah, I said 50! What are you looking at? I look good in this bikini and you know it….jealous? Yes I have a cover-up? Why do you ask?
Ask any of my close friends who have listened to me gripe about this for years. I exercise EVERY DAY (from March until November) and I don’t eat badly (from March until November…not counting Easter.) I have come to grips with the fact that I will never be a skinny bitch. I will be a bitch, just not a skinny one. I am a curvy woman. I have boobs, big ones, and I have a very muscular frame. I have been told all my life that I am a mesomorph, defined in the dictionary as: well-defined muscles, large bones.. Oh great! I am “big boned.” No one wants to hear that! “She’s a big boned girl, real healthy….” I sound like a freakin’ farm animal! Where’s that damned feed bag? It had better be filled with chocolate, and get that milking machine away from me!
It is very frustrating especially knowing that there are others out there who eat crap and never get off the sofa, even during the pleasant months, and they weigh less than I do. I have to freakin’ starve to lose weight. I gained weight on weight watchers! I like food! I like 3 squares a day! It also doesn’t help that I’m married to a gorgeous big hunk o’ man who gets scared every time I try to go on a diet. Not only am I dangerous to be around, but also I stop cooking him his favorite fat ass meals. He starts to undermine me in subtle ways. “Hey Bays, I got ya a strawberry cream cheese croissant at the market!” Thanks a lot Du! No one can resist a Sandbridge Market pastry! They are baked fresh daily for our eating pleasure and are a little slice of heaven. You are an evil man. No, he’s really not evil, he’s just afraid. I can’t hate him or blame him. I love to eat and he knows it. I also admit that I am not an easy dieter to live with. It’s kinda like throwing raw meat into a lion’s cage. He throws me the pastry and then slowly walks into the kitchen….gauging my reaction and making sure he has a clean escape route. He’s no fool.
The truth is that I am lucky enough to be married to a man who loves how I look no matter what the scale says. He tells me how beautiful he thinks I am on a regular basis. I would hate being married to an insecure guy who criticized everything I put in my mouth and I have friends whose husbands actually tell them when they need to lose a few pounds!
Can you believe that? I would tell that jerk that I know a way to lose 200 pounds in five minutes, pack his shit and leave it at the door! Why do some women allow that behavior to continue? If I were married to an idiot like that I would most likely be skinny, and extremely unhappy. But who am I kidding? As soon as I reached optimal fighting weight I would beat him to a pulp and leave his evil ass for a real man who loved me for me….and then I would get fat again. Ya can’t have it all, ladies. I’ll keep the misguided one I have. He knows that I cannot eat a handful of lettuce and call it lunch! Muscle weighs more than fat… Waaa-waaa for me. Things could be worse. I am in relatively good health and I am grateful for that, but can a sista get a bit of sympathy for that last 50 pounds?
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