IT'S 10 O'CLOCK.
DO YOU KNOW WHERE YOUR BOOTS ARE?
Somehow, I managed to lose my favorite pair of red boots. Seriously, how do you lose boots? It's not like a pen or keys or sunglasses (which I lose all the time; I lost the last pair in a bathroom in Chinatown) or, I don't know, something normal. Who loses boots? Well, apparently, I do. While I was searching my closet, I decided to try on a few outfits that I was considering wearing this weekend. That wasn't fun. The thing is, size 2 pants don't fit all that well when your ass is now a size 6. So now I'm going to have to go to our nephew's baptism in a white linen sleeveless sundress because basically that's the only thing that fits other than yoga pants, capris & one pair of jeans. Too bad I can't find my boots, I'll bet they really would've pulled the whole thing together. I don't think white linen is inappropriate for October in Pennsylvania, do you?
Damn my thirtysomething metabolism. I should have enjoyed the days of sitting around like third base, eating pie & gaining precisely nothing while they lasted. When I lived by myself, I would eat something like cereal or salad or rice for dinner & rarely ate breakfast or lunch. Probably not the healthiest diet, but I was lazy. (Was, she says! Funny!) Then Chris moved in. He's a great cook & likes to have actual food type things in the refrigerator, not just milk, spinach, condiments & cheese. Imagine that. By the time we were engaged, I'd gained five pounds. I did try to lose the weight before the wedding. For six looooong weeks, I exercised for at least an hour a day & monitored every single thing I ate. I restricted myself to 1200 calories a day (amount calculated by a nutritionist), which quite frankly is not a sufficient amount of food for a normal person. Or even a semi-normal one. I have to imagine that I was not pleasant to be around. (You know, unlike my normal, sunshiny self.) And at the end of those six weeks, do you know how much weight I lost? Not. One. Ounce. Not even water weight. And don't give me that, "muscle weighs more than fat" business because my clothes fit exactly the same too. So I figured, if I'm going to weigh the same whether I exercise like a fiend & eat celery or lie on the couch & eat bon bons, well . . . wouldn't any rational person eat the bon bons?
Ten pounds worth of bon bons later, I fit into virtually nothing I own. And, ya'll, I have some cute clothes. If you come over, we can sit in my closet & admire my wardrobe. In fact, if you're a size 0 or 2, help yourself, because I sure as hell can't wear this stuff anymore. I cannot motivate myself to get on the treadmill or keep myself from eating an enormous bagel with cream cheese. (Oh, Lord, the cream cheese. I simply adore the warm, melty cream cheese.) I used to think that I would never gain a significant amount of weight because I have so much willpower. Turns out, that willpower thing? More like a phase. Or, at any rate, I've completely lost any trace of it. Maybe it's with my boots.