I blame Campbell Brown.
It wasn’t until the Mister noted how chunky Campbell Brown had gotten that I realized that I too have put on a few (make that a few squared) pounds.
I could blame it on Ramsay, but he has me cooking delicious and nutritious (words from the Boy) meals and it is something about abusive Brits (Simon Cowell is another infatuation I harbor) that appeals to the sadist in me that has taken the heat off of him. I loves me some Ramsay.
Anyway, the Mister, who by the way, takes a week to notice when I have my eyebrows waxed, commented on how striking he finds non pregnant Campbell Brown.
I hate men sometimes.
In silence I dressed. That’s when I realized that dangit, it was a chore for me to tie my shoes and that DAMMIT I was having an almost popped button on my jeans. The Boy has remarked that my stomach feels gooshy and Queenie slyly asks if she’s having another grandchild. She’s not.
Screw you guys, I’m going home.
I was doing so good! Working out daily, watching what I ate, noticing the double chins that threaten to rear it’s ugly head. I bought a Spanx and had my Momma needs a New Pair of Shoes dress hanging on my closet door to remind me that I have a goal to reach. Then I discovered the joy of muffin baking and cooking with wine.
An aside: somebody lied when they talked about the French and how wine keeps them thin cuz wine has enlarged my behind.
I try to console myself with the idea that Marilyn Monroe was a 2009 size 12 and one of the most sought after chicks in the world. I’m a Britain 12 so that lets me sleep somewhat at night.
Thick Chick of Yore
That so is not helping.
Dorothy Dandridge would also be considered fat today. I googled her measurements, and many pounds ago I was her size, so she has an honorary place in Thick Chickdom.
Thick Chick, Huh?
I accepted a loooooong time ago I wouldn’t be rail thin. What I can’t accept is that my fat jeans are now tight and that I pant when I walk up steps.
What to do?
I’m too undisciplined for a diet. But I can watch what I eat meaning not eating what I watch. Renounce my foodie label? Not going to happen. Get off my rusty dusty and start walking again.
I do recall I had a greater clarity when I walked, wasn’t quite as beeyotchy and my thin jeans slid off my hips. I also slept better, made wiser decisions, and could suffer fools incessantly. Plus that Nike+ Mini on the side didn’t give me the side eye everytime I logged into my blog.
I’m dusting off my tennis shoes and to the streets I go.