I FEEL LIKE BUSTIN' LOOSE. (CLICK ME)
I'm bustin' out. No, not of my clothes, of the joint. The Clink. The Slammer. The Big House. I'm done being confined, squeezed, stifled and generally held back by my weight.
It occurred to me today that being overweight is a lot like being imprisoned. Here are 8 ways:
8. Seats. I mean, I once got stuck in an antique rocking chair, made in days when people were generally smaller, but still - that ain't right. Also bistro chairs, airplane seats, other places like that you'd want to sit.
7. Clearance sales. It seems like the only people getting a deal on clearance are the smaller ones. Never any XXL sizes left, all just mediums, smalls and such.
6. Buffet lines. Who wants to be the chunky girl loading up her plate at a buffet? People look at you. They take note of your dinner and give haughty looks (real or imagined). Besides, they are diet suicide, designed to keep you in the "Big House".
5. Stylish clothes. Just because I am bigger than other people doesn't mean I am in my 60's looking for giant floral prints and polyester for a cruise. I want to be cute and stylish like my other teacher friends who shop at the LOFT and look adorable all the time. I know that may sound vain, but who doesn't want to look cute and stylish?
4. Shoes. Have you tried wearing skimpy pancake flats and being overweight? It hurts! Your feet! Your knees! Ouch! And it would be nice to wear heels without feeling like I'm putting 1000 psi on the ball of my foot.
3. Mammograms. I had my first one last year and they had to push that bad boy - er, girl - pretty hard. Would it hurt less if there were less to press? We'll see.
2. Bathing suits. How many times did I sit on the beach in some skirty bathing suit that was pretending to hide something and wish I was frolicking and walking confidently on the sand by the water? How many times did I map the shortest route from my chair to the pool so nobody would see? Too many to count. SIDE NOTE: I'm realistic. I've had 3 kids so even if I am never bikini material (which is ok with me) I would like something less matronly than my Mom-mom's suits I remember from the late 1970's in Wildwood.
1. Chub rub. For those of you who aren't acquainted with the term, chub rub is when your thighs engage in thigh-to-thigh combat, generating friction and eventually brutal chafing that make your romantic strolls and other walking unbearably unbearable. Truthfully, no amount of powder or gel can solve it. The only solution is some type of Spanx-like contraption, which takes the "breezy and free" feeling of wearing a skirt in the summer out of the equation.
I resolve to continue to eat and move healthfully so that my confinement is limited and I serve a reduced sentence. Good behavior will lead to my release. I can feel it!