There’s an old song by Jimmy Soul, If You Wanna Be Happy. For those unfamiliar, the lyrics go:
If you wanna be happy for the rest of your life
Never make a pretty woman your wife
So from my personal point of view
Get an ugly girl to marry you.
I was never the prettiest girl in the room. I consider myself plain. I’m one of those people that if you set them up on a blind date the first thing you would say is, “she has a great personality”. Followed by the worst word ever spoken in the English language, “cute”. I hate the word, “cute”. Cute is for puppy dogs and babies who favor their dad a little more than their mom. Cute is what you say when you feel like you have to say something when you should just say nothing at all. When you tell someone, “that’s a cute outfit”, then snap a picture and post to Facebook, “OMG what was she thinking.” That’s what cute means to me. You will never hear me use the word “cute” unless it falls under one of those categories and now that I’ve told you all, I can’t do it anymore.
Now that I have finished digressing about the cute thing, I can move on.
Up until the time I had my twins, I hovered somewhere between a size 0 and 2. I know what you’re thinking, “this girl better not start complaining that she’s fat.” That’s not where this is going. Where it’s going is here, the complaint that after children we all lose the figure we once had and are forced to get off our rumps do something about it or relinquish ourselves to the depression that follows shortly after we resign that our size whatever body is dead and buried. This is where I am and this is where Mr. Adonis comes in.
Mr. Adonis aka The Husband, is 40. While he is 40 he looks like he is in his early 30s and with a ball cap on someone once told him he looked 25, much to his pleasure (as you can imagine). Now to be fair, I have never, ever been mistaken for a 30 something. I have been perpetually 21 for the past 13 years and not because I haven’t told anyone my real age. My face has never aged and so far (knock on wood) hasn’t wrinkled. We were a perfectly matched couple, the good looking guy and the girl who looks 21 but is really 34. Then the unthinkable happened. My metabolism hit a brick wall. I kind of imagine it as being blown up by that big black Angry Bird that explodes after he lands but more than likely it was the red Angry Bird that my husband complains, “Is worthless and does nothing”.
So here I am, 34 and at my true weight. Or at least the weight that the FDA, (*please insert sarcastic voice here*) you know how I love the FDA, says that I should weigh for my height, blah, blah, blah.
Problem is, I feel like crap, I’m sluggish, moody and pretty much feel like I’m carrying Quinn around with me all day long on my back. I’m a size 6 which is fine because my clothes fit me better and I don’t have to shop in the juniors section anymore. But dare I say it, I miss shopping in the juniors section. I’m at the point now where I’ve reconciled with the fact that it is what it is but I just want to tone up the extra meat. Where in the day do I find time to do that? It’s hard enough to find time in the day to write for you all. Which I love and enjoy, exercise I do not love and enjoy.
Enter back in, Mr. Adonis who has not changed one iota in this time and is now going to the gym to make himself look hunkier. I sit here thinking, “REALLY”??? Now instead of being the good looking guy and his equally attractive wife. We’ll be the couple with the good looking husband and the frumpy wife that let herself go. I should start trolling through Wal-Mart looking for housecoats now.
I know I’m not the only one who feels this way. Regardless of what size you were or are, don’t we all want to look like our best selves? Or at least, what we perceive our best self to be? I’d like to give this little tale some resolution. A happy ending that makes both me and you my reader feel all warm and fuzzy inside but I don’t have one. Life catches up to us all, even me.