That’s the topic. Not the kind you eat but the kind that makes you duck and dive and leapt like graceful ballerinas out of the eye of the beholder before he beholds … your rolls.
You’d think that at 26 I’d still be trim and sleek as a high school cheerleader but alas … that was not meant to be.
One subject I don’t recall Liz Gilbert covering in Committed was the one of unveiling. Your body that is.
With a year to go before my impending nuptials I’ve become more aware of my expanding waistline. I’m so aware of it that I walk around sucking in my stomach and clenching my butt and thighs and hoping against all hope that no one notices that I’m more of size 12 than a 8.
Speaking to a wise friend about my faux pas of the last 72 hours I was well-informed of just how my negative view would in future affect my prospects of ever breaking a bed or losing underwear in a hotel lobby somewhere.
Although this doesn’t stop me from praying “God if you can’t make me thin, please make my friends fat.” I do have to wonder, when did I become that girl? When did I start comparing myself to the skinner versions around me. Are they happier or smarter or more bubbly for it? Maybe not …
I’m potentially loved … adored by my wonderfully sexy, sensitive and amazing fiancee who even loves me for all my quirks and I have many … shoes come to mind* and I’m happier than I ever was in high school with my taunt rib peaking self. This is the guy who happily dishes out a bowl of icecream and tops it with jelly tots to cheer me up. I’m loved for me more than what I look like so …
Stripping down last night I danced for an hour till I couldn’t breathe then I laughed at myself and all my imperfections and for thinking for even a minute that I wasn’t perfect.
Just as I am.