|BWS Stories - "You're So Vain"...Celebrating Physical Changes|
"You're So Vain"...Celebrating Physical Changes - Yes, Virginia, There ARE Disadvantages to Losing Weight!
Marsha Jordan, zany grandmother and undiscovered
shower singer, began her writing career on the walls of St.
School. Her book, Hugs,
Hope, and Peanut Butter earned an endorsement by Phyllis
Diller and honorable mention in The World’s Funniest Humor Contest. Jordan
and her rocket scientist husband have been held hostage in the north woods of Wisconsin for over 30
years. They share an empty nest with a strong willed toy poodle, King
Louie, who rules the house with an iron paw. Visit Marsha online at www.hugsandhope.org or email her at firstname.lastname@example.org
Yes, Virginia, There ARE Disadvantages to Losing Weight!
It's confession time. After losing nearly forty pounds, I've begun
noticing some not‑so‑pleasant results of shedding weight.
Don't get me wrong. I love being able to wear size 12 jeans (BIG
size 12 jeans, but size 12 never the less!) I'm happy that all this exercising takes me away from cooking and
cleaning, which I've successfully avoided for three years. And it's wonderful
to bend over and tie my shoes without cutting off the blood flow to my brain,
or fainting from lack of oxygen. Having more energy is great too. I don't get
out of breath any more from chewing gum or dialing long distance. Even the
husband is pleased. He’s glad I no longer need a front end loader to lift my
carcass out of the Lazy Boy.
BUT . . . losing weight has its downside too. For one
thing, I can no longer use my stomach as a serving tray; and my knees are
always cold without my belly to keep
Also, losing weight has turned
me into an old woman. Fat stretches out wrinkles. Lose the fat, and the face
begins to sag and bag. I have layers of crows feet ‑‑ no, they're more like
ostrich feet. AND, even worse, I have
pleats in my neck!
People no longer tell me I look
young for my age. Now they offer me senior discounts and the early bird supper
specials at 3:00 p.m. And boy scouts want to help me cross the street.
I can’t count gravity among my
friends anymore. It's pulling everything southward, and parts of me that once
were perky are now in danger of being stepped on.
I bought one of those lighted
magnifying mirrors that blows things up seven times their actual size. Those
things should be illegal. I looked
like Grandpa Walton ‑‑ a puckered pile of flab with wrinkles and whiskers. The
whole nasty experience plunged me into a state of third‑degree, age‑related
depression ‑‑ which can only be treated with massive amounts of chocolate and
soap opera watching. The store refused to let me
return the mirror. They said the fact that it caused me to hyperventilate and
fall into the bathtub wasn't sufficient reason for a refund. I’m sending them the bill
for my twisted ankle.
I’m extremely sad. All this
time, I've been living in that lovely la‑la‑land of denial. I had fooled myself
into believing I still looked 29. Time to wake up and smell the extra‑strength
age spot remover. Reality hit me right between my puffy eyes. My laugh lines
are no laughing matter, and the black bags under my eyes are bigger than my
feet. I could carry groceries in them.
Every woman wants to have
cleavage; but on their face? My cheeks jiggle and sag lower each day
like melting blobs of raspberry ripple ice cream. I'm afraid I'll awake some
morning to discover that my face has slid down around my waist.
It seems that my youth has
evaporated like spit on a hot griddle; and instead of aging like a fine wine, I'm
more like curdled 2% milk. I’ve stopped being Barbie and became Mrs. Potato
Head. (But maybe that part of it isn’t so bad. After all, if Barbie's so great,
why do you have to BUY her friends???)
Between my droopy eye lids,
crevices in my cheeks, a flabby neck, and dark under‑eye circles, I look like a
cross between a racoon, a turkey, and an old coon dog. No wonder hubby calls me
When I asked him how I looked
this morning, Mr. Wonderful replied "Halloween was months ago." I guess when he calls me "Floppy
Face," it isn’t a term of endearment. Sigh…
Marriage licenses should come
with a free shock collar. However, I do wish the husband would spend more time
with me. I may be a hefty size twelve, but this Baby Boomer quickly learned how
to turn her weight loss disadvantage to
her advantage…I simply buy perfume
that smells like boat motor oil.