November 10, 2009 by Marj Hatzell
Tonight we were attending the viewing of the mother-in-law of DH’s father’s sister (got that?). I got all gussied up like it was a hot date, mostly because my choices were yoga pants and stained graphic tees with sneakers or my sexy leather boots with a knee skirt and cutesy sweater. Earings, necklace, you name it. Except when I was trying stuff on, like stuff I wore this summer? My adorable light-weight sweaters and skirts?
THEY DID NOT FIT.
As in, I could barely zip up the skirts, pull them over my arse or button a sweater or blouse. Don’t even get me started on the stockings that I couldn’t get over my thighs. These were all things that fit me less than three months ago. A year ago, some of them were slightly too big.
And now they are too tight.
Either some gnomes decided to sneak into my house and switch out my clothes as a really bad practical joke or every shrunk in the wash.
I’m going with everything shrunk in the wash. Sounds good, right?
Because the alternative? The alternative is I stepped on the scale and found out I gained yet another five pounds. That’s thirty pounds since my anniversary last year. I’m eating like crap, I’m not getting any sleep, my clothes don’t fit and I am barely getting exercise in again because when I have the choice between sleep or a three-mile jog, GUESS WHICH ONE I PICK, Y’ALL. Go on, guess.
I can dream about jogging while I am sleeping. When I am jogging, I can’t sleep. That’s how I justify it. And now that I’ve written that out, I see how pathetic that justification is, just like when I justify that I need fries for lunch, or need to get SOS for breakfast or need ice cream because it was a bad day and I deserve it. I am not getting younger. Thirty pounds in a year. If I do that again, I will be in the morbidly obese category for my height. I deserve a healthier me and so does my family.
I’m kicking my arse and taking my own name. Time to get serious.