So my sister is getting married, and she chooses bridesmaid dresses meant for an 18-year-old. I’m, of course, in my 40′s, and I had no problem with my self-concept until I had to fit into the stupid thing. I heard it ripping. Oh, yes, I forgot to say that measuring myself to order it online was no happy picnic in the park either. Does anyone have measurements like that? I mean, without plastic surgery. And to think that I finally came to a point in my life where I was comfortable in my skin, and I believed I was attractive to my husband, life has to throw in a monkey wrench like this. Sigh.
Zipping the dress up the side, I heard it ripping. But then I checked, and it wasn’t ripped after all. Good, because shelling out $100 for a dress that I will never wear again shouldn’t happen twice in one week. My best friend told me that I should have ordered “up,” and then have it taken in. Right, like that’s another hundred dollars probably. Because the ideal hourglass figure doesn’t allow for reality, not one bit. Either the dress would look like a deflated balloon up top, or it would have to be skin tight on my belly and behind. I chose the latter.
“I have a big pooch,” I said, and my husband agreed, who (bless his heart) was only telling the truth. I wasn’t hurt by the comment. I looked way uglier in the dress than I did naked. Yes, my pooch looked exaggerated by the dress.
I’ve given birth four times. My body is great. I do Zumba. I’m fine. I don’t particularly want to go on a diet just to make an ugly dress appear less ugly. Yes, I’m going to back up and say the dress is ugly and not me. I’m gorgeous. Yes. I suppose I should lose the pooch, though…
I restricted calories. Then for some reason I wanted foods that were bad for me just because I couldn’t have them. I’m like, wow. I don’t normally like cake. Back when I lived like a normal person, I skipped the cake and didn’t feel like I was depriving myself. Now the cake was sitting there like a commercial, you know, looking way better than real life. And then you eat it and feel yucky. Your stomach actually feels disgusting. If I wasn’t on a diet, my stomach would have felt fine. But somehow my brain is now telling my stomach that it did something wrong. I exercise longer to do penance.
The other thing I did was crunches. So I did like a bazillion crunches. Every day. I made sure my belly was in a constant state of hurting. And then my belly looked WORSE. I asked some women at my Zumba class, “What’s up with that?” They said that if you do lots of crunches, it pushes your belly fat forward, so you look worse. Oh, that’s nice.
The wedding is in less than two weeks. I’ve lost five pounds. I have no idea if my belly is any flatter, but at least I tried, right?Tweet