The post-baby weight free fall has stopped. That means I have to actually stop shoveling food in my gullet and start moving my slug-like body. I hate my metabolism. Why can’t I have been one of those people who have a hard time gaining enough weight? I’d gladly change my cold-climate birthing hips for a pair of, say, Twiggy hips. I always wanted to look like a pre-pubescent 12 year old, even when I was 12. And since I can’t change the world and go back to Fertility Worship, I try to change myself to fit in with the dying-from-anorexia Italian runway models.
Except that Italy has enacted a new law, according to NPR, which includes a weight-to-height ratio for models. Too skinny and they’re unemployed. Or they go to France.
Not that I actually want to be too skinny. But I do not enjoy booty butt. It may be the music I listen to, but it ain’t the culture I run with. I’m telling on Hal, but I don’t think he’ll mind. I once modeled a new pair of Banana Republic jeans for Hal. I mention the name of the store so you know I wasn’t shopping at a place that lends itself to “going downtown” if you know what I mean. Anyway, I had the new jeans on and I turned my backside to him and asked the stupidest question a woman can ever ask. “Does my butt look big?”
“That’s the style, isn’t it?”
Now, he knows that the correct answer is, “No, sweetheart, your butt could never look big.”
And I guess it was better than some other answers: “The jeans don’t make your butt look big. Your fat butt makes your butt look big.”
Still, whatever the style may be for the nightclubs I couldn’t get into even if I wanted to, I’m still a church-going (not choir singing, but close enough), liberal-voting, kashi-eating, no-makeup kind of girl. My friends do not wear their hoop earrings seriously; they only dabble in hip hop. Which means that I do not want my booty to be a focal point. Now, some in my crowd may choose to wear sweat pants with “Juicy” across the butt, but I think that’s just a style-glitch in their brains and 20 years from now they’ll shake their heads and wonder what on earth they were thinking. As for me, while I’m not a Junior Leaguer, neither am I ghetto enough to get a way with an apple bottom.
Which brings me back to my topic sentence. I have to lose weight. I’ve briefly considered just letting it sit, but then I remember that I have really cute clothes, all in a size that won’t fit around one leg at my current weight. Besides, I have a 20 year reunion coming up, which I may or may not go to. But even if I don’t go, I want to be able to put in my bio “weighs the same as she did on graduation day.” I don’t have a lot of accomplishments to list, and since I’m not any closer to figuring out cold fusion or reconciling Dark Matter, I’ll have to fall back on my weight. Which I’m banking is at least 20 pounds lighter than most of the chicks who will be showing up to the reunion.