Mama said I am fat

So the other day my mother kind of took me to the top of the tallest building in Dubia, let me chill there for a bit and enjoy the view, then she pushed me over the edge. I am still reeling.

Mom: You are so beautiful my child.

Me: Ooooh! Thank you!

Mom: Pity you are so fat.

Could the world stop just a minute? I would like to disembark for a bit.

My mom was not lying; but everyone hates hearing one of the worst things they think about themselves being confirmed by someone else. It’s like when you are on the verge of breaking up with a boyfriend and he breaks up with you first.

To be frank, I have been pretty OK with my weight. So, I'm not svelte with a thigh-gap and perky boobs, but I have the love of a great man, I have a job I like and I have a wonderful family. That seriously is all I want from life.

But recently, I have been feeling the pressure from EVERYWHERE. Random people comment on my weight, I HATE going clothes shopping because of the pitying look from sales girls and the plainly terrified looks from boutique owners.

My partner has been pretty cool about my weight seesaw. When I went on a health kick because I had to be fit for health purposes he bought me a bunch of exercise DVDs because I asked for them. I really did enjoy them. But then I got sick again and had to slack off the exercise; which meant I completely lost the plot and haven’t done any exercises in a long time.

So now (after my mom's brutality, the infrequency of cat calls from construction workers, the sensitivity to Tweets about “fat chicks, and the desire to stand happily in front of a mirror without grabbing hold of errant excess flash and squeezing it), I'm going to have to make a lifestyle change.

Ugh!

Vices

Cloaked in shame and reeking of despair she meandered home; head low, shoulders hunched against the elements, a bag clutched in her fisted hand. She would occasionally raise her head; a smile plastered on her face her eyes pools of untold stories of pain. Her strong voice would ring out in friendly laugh and greeting. Her neighbours must never found out.

The day at work been a dance on a fine line; unable to disrobe and show true self she dons on her daily uniform. The makeup to mask the sallow skin; around the eyes to give them life and her lipstick a bold statement, shouting for attention. Her clothes are meticulous chosen; loot at me, her breasts demand from behind a severe jacket which is buttoned up like a shield. The heart sighs behind the constraints it must bear. Nylon sheaths her once striking legs, giving an illusion of their former glory. Low-heeled shoes; I am hard working her stout feet say with each purposeful stomp. Her skirt below the knee, her mounds have forgotten the kiss of sunlight.

With each passing hour, with each person she helps she wonders; will this one see beyond the mask? Who will knock on my frozen door and offer a warm drink for my thirsting soul. All she fears and hopes is not seen. “How lovely she is,” they exclaim to each other.

“Always smiling,” another concurs.

“Never a hair out of place,” observes another admiringly.

“No!” She wants to scream, “You aren’t seeing me, look beyond the mask, see the human inside my shell.”  They never do, because she never does.

No matter, the day’s end is nigh, the cocoon of her home is near.

She leaves promptly, conflict ion her heart; straight home or past her beloved’s first? What sense was I to love that which harmed you? No home, there was plenty to do there. But what? Fold the laundry; read a book? Spend endless hours contemplating the emptiness? Drawing shapes from shadows cast by the furniture? No, better to have some company.

And so she walks the aisle, seeking her refuge. The cool breeze signals her arrival. In a practiced trance she rescues her favourite from the depths of its cold tomb. As she weaves her way home she imagines when she sits down and indulges. How her loneliness won’t seem to matter; how she will look beautiful when she gazes upon herself in the mirror. Those moments fill up her tank of tolerance so she may face tomorrow with the same bravado she has always shown.

She is a lonely a woman, she finds solace in a spoonful of ice-cream, pastry, anything that will taste like how she wishes she felt, happy

Anniversary Jitters

TJ and I are making it to the totally insignificant big, amazing and meaningful two-year anniversary!

*pause for Zumba-style rocksta hip-hop dance here*

I’m pretty excited but curiously nervous at the same time. Given both our ages I guess two years would mean that we start delving into “THE FUTURE” but we did it backwards. We settled this question a long time ago.

Unfortunately I was amiss in telling my friends and family of this. Now I am besieged with questions. My mom is fond of asking, 

“Does this man REALIZE you’re an old wrinkling graying-by-the-day nearly-past-shelf-life an amazing catch and shouldn’t be kept dangling like this?” 

“Yes mom he knows and he does NOT dangle me, we’re not into funky sex positions!” I’m often heard mumbling in answer while she gets into stride on her anti-TJ rant.

Even my daughter who really doesn’t have the right to comment on my love life often makes heavily suggestive comments about single women who really should be settling down as an example to impressionable teenage children.

She can obviously go jump for her cheek.

But more than that jitters, thinking of my anniversary makes me dance and I get stomach flips; because after all this time, after all our fights and make-ups and disagreement about Bill Clinton and Mandela I am still so crazily in love.

Yes!

I’m IN LOVE with my quiet, thoughtful, clever, brilliant writer and sex god of a man.

I imagine a life without him and I panic. I imagine a week without him and I panic. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night just to tell him “Baby I love you,” because his response is always “I love you more,” and LUURVE to hear that even though it is patently untrue.

5 Things You Don’t Know About Us

1. We’re the world first couple to be this amazingly in love. I know you’ll say I’m lying because YOU and YOUR partner have that honor but everyone knows you’re wrong.
2. When we don’t speak for a day we start to mutate into broken hearts and bleed all over there people we’re with so that is why we’re together ALL the time.
3. We’ve adopted a hut in the bundus that is our very own love nest and we may be found there pretending we’re not in so we can be alone.
4. Although we’re both incredibly sexy and good-looking our gorgeousness doesn’t make everyone around seem dowdy, it actually beautifies them.
5. We’re never going to break up because a group of aliens we met told us that if we did Planet Awesome Couples would invade Earth and destroy everything in bitter disillusionment. We both take the responsibility for Earth’s continuing existence very seriously.

3 Reasons Why You Should Do Zumba at Home

Well I thought I’d tackle the flab once more instead of letting grow wild and confident, taking over my whole shape over the winter so that come spring I am cowering in dressing rooms, trying to shut out the four-way view of my fatty fold while I fit a size bigger than three months ago.

Now I wasn’t going to do my usual waddle/jog or swimming gig to keep in shape over the winter! No way. It gets darker earlier and I am not giving some rapist a shot at TJ’s sexy ass NO SIR! And obviously, heating the pool is just irresponsible given my bank balance.

Ha!

Or lack thereof!

*let me shatter inside for a bit and cry into my double chins over this tragedy*

Anyway, my dughter is now proficient in the "Hip-Hop Abs" exercise routine and while it’s great exercise and I like to do it, I was getting annoyed with Shawn T’s annoying voice. Not really, I’m lying, she’s taken it to her bedroom and I just didn’t want the politics of going to ask for it every time I need to exercise!

So I got me the Zumba!!

BIG MISTAKE!!

Sigh. Here are three of the topmost reasons I'm glad I get to do it home though;

1. They make you do something called the Booty Roll.

*break for maniacal laughter at this point please*

The booty roll is so EMBARASSING! Now imagine I was in a gym and doing the Booty Roll among 5million other saggy-bottomed losers?! JESUS! Please someone save me from myself. I feel embarrassed doing the booty roll alone. And slightly ashamed.

2. Your children think you’re hilarious but at least it’s not Miss Skinny Pants standing behind you at Gym.

This once, my daughter came in as I shook my groove thang and commenced, *maniacal laughter again please* to laugh until her abs turned into a dancer’s six pack. Little bitch. But imagine if it was someone else at gym? My heart would shatter to little pieces, my merger self esteem a thing of the past!

3. When you do the Cumbia you can trust upwards for all you’re worth!

I feel this step is the closest I’ll get to learning tantric sex secrets and I am glad for chance to do it at home! While the energetic upward thrusts would no doubt lead TJ to crown me his queen forever, it is not without its drawbacks. If I continue to participate in it as enthusiastically as I have been I am afraid that I will have a lot of explaining to do. My boobs nearly smash my double chins into my face and I think a few teeth have been knocked out! Mercy! Only try this at home!

So there you have it. My forays into Zumba! (I always resist the urge to do an African war-cry here.)

The small comfort is that come spring, I won’t be ashamed to shop!