Yum, Celery Sticks
January 9, 2006
It seems as though everyone I know, both online and in life, has recommitted themselves to exercise as a resolution for the new year. In a gesture of solidarity I decided I should exercise as well.
And to be completely honest, I don’t want to be the fatty at the beach this summer, thinking I should have put down the Christmas cookies and not been afraid of doing some sit ups. I don’t want my stomach to completely hide my bathing suit bottom when I sit down or be forced to suck my stomach in and hold my breath. Because I would inevitably pass out and collapse in an even more unflattering position. And knowing my children, one of them would be sure to photograph it and add it to the collection of photos they already have of my nostrils, armpits and many chins.
Today I was running on my treadmill for the first time in, I don’t even know how long. As I was running I kept feeling something behind me.
“What is that?” I wondered. It felt like I was wearing a large fanny pack, but I knew I wasn’t. And not just because I don’t own one and frankly wouldn’t be caught dead wearing one.
“Is there something hanging off the waistband of my sweatpants that is hitting me in my rear end?” I wondered.
“Is one of my children smacking me with something as a joke?”
I brought my hand down to my backside and felt around. But there was nothing out of the ordinary there.
That is when I came to the horrible realization that what was going on behind me was my own ass jiggling against itself. I need a bra, for my butt.
How depressing. I can no longer lie to myself and pretend that my underwear shrunk in the wash.
And even more depressing, it is Girl Scout cookie season. I will not be able to partake in the Samoas, Trefoils, or Thin Mints this year.
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