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My Profile
Fairytales for a Practical Princess - 2008-11-30
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2:59 p.m. - 2003-10-16
My. Pants. Fell. Off. Seriously. I’d noticed that the fat on my bod didn’t seem as dense. That formerly hard packed lumps and bulges had gone fluffy. Sort of like the inside of a Three Musketeers bar. And the two new bathrooms are lousy with mirrors and I couldn’t help but see that the middle of me kind of went in, not out. A waist? I’d forgotten that I’d had one at one time. I’d sort of gotten used to being barrel shaped. And a few people recently did that head cocked thing and asked if I’d lost some weight. I mumbled that I had, maybe 15lbs or so. But it was just something to say, not that I believed it really. When someone asks that question one can hardly say, “Oh no. I’m as fat as ever, thanks.” I know there are some women who obsessively track their weight right down to the last molecule. I am not one of those. For one thing my scale has a lackadaisical approach to its job. It gives numbers in a random Lotto fashion and any number on any given weigh-in is apt to be off by as much as 20lbs. I know this because I once set a 10lb bag of flour on it several times in a row and got readings from 6lbs to 29lbs. Mostly I keep my scale around to frighten and amuse guests with. I can always tell when someone’s sneaked a weight check. There’ll be either a scream of delight or a gasp of horror from the little bathroom and then it’s my job to console the gaspers. Those who come out of the can smiling and humming I say nothing to. Why burst their bubble with the truth about my fluky scale? If my scale has told them they weigh a scant two pounds more than they did on the first day of seventh grade, I say let them have the pleasure of it. Truly I’ve been too busy to do much obsessing about my weight. And if I’ve had to cinch my belt tighter or the drawstring on my sweats was suddenly a foot longer I just thought I needed to do laundry more often and then buzzed off to start the day. Shoot, I’ve been so torqued about the house I don’t think I’ve even worn make-up since September. Losing weight has been the last thing on my mind. (God! Couldn’t you just smack me? D-land’s awash with struggling dieters and grimly determined exercisers and here I am gabbling on about not even noticing a substantial weight loss until my pants literally fell off!) But fall off they did. And HOW they managed to do it is a mystery because my thighs just don’t rub together at the top, they touch all the way down their globulous length to my knees. Even if my entire ass had disappeared my thighs should have kept my pants up. I guess I was just standing in the right position and PLOP! Down the jeans went to the kitchen floor with a jingle of pocket change and much laughter from Mike and Wolf. Me? I was more astonished than amused. Seeing my jeans around my ankles cued the same thought chain I have when I fall down. “Huh? How the hell did THAT happen?” (Many’s the time I’ve gone sprawling with nary a clue that I was about to go over until I landed with a thud.) I just looked at the denim puddle at my feet and felt the chill of night air on my bare legs and thought, “Damn! I gotta get a scale that works!” Bemused, but happy, ~LA
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