Life is like a box of chocolates.
I couldn’t help but notice my back (and front) side has expanded. Shout out to the coveted single digit jeans for pointing that out.
Granted, I washed a pair, which is a recipe for sabotaging the perfect worn-in fit. But when I attempted to pull them up to their highest potential, the zipper reached for an oxygen tank. Shit shit shit. When did this happen?
Ohhhh that’s right. We’ve approached the annual ritual of falling into the “Thanksgiving to Christmas fat ass in the making” box.
When I was laid off November 2nd, my grocery shopping experience vastly shifted. Where as I used to eat fresh produce, fruits, lean protein and nuts, my cart instead was replaced with all things dough — bread, pasta, crackers, potatoes, rice, and their immediate family. It’s very simple — simple carbs are dirt cheap.
A month into my “Anti-Atkins” menu, I thought I had accidentally created a new fad diet…because I hadn’t gained any weight! Sure I was making occasional appearances at the gymnasium 2-3 times a week. But, something scientific was taking place and I was happy to be a part of the defiant experiment.
Then low and behold, BOOM. Thanksgiving fixins’ and desserts morphed into a full month of holiday sugar cookies, brownies, fudge, homemade cream puffs and cupcakes with red and green icing. Num num in my tum tum! Although it’d be a lovely and convenient cop out to blame my bulge on being with Mr. Big and licking happiness off my fingers, that simply isn’t the case. Nope, I’ve been hanging out at Willy’s house.
My diva of a metabolism is so damn uptight too. The bitch gives me zero leeway. The moment I stop consuming rabbit food, the baby-making hips swell up like a fresh set of botox lips and also pop out a kangaroo pouch sans the cute joey inside. No amount of stretch in denim makes a difference. MaryB’s rump, 1; Seams and Stitches, 0. And who wants to be caught dead in ill-fitting blues?
Although my backpedaling into meals full of food produced on farms and re-upping a consistent exercise routine happens to fall directly into New Year’s resolution timing, living a healthy lifestyle for 11 months has to count for something. Unless my insurance plan will cover root canals for the entire grill, sweet tooth & co will inevitably prevail once a year.
