Tuesday, May 16, 2006

Blood Circulation Purely Optional

So did I mention that I've lost a total of eight inches last month? And I'm not talking about the fact that I haven't had sex in that long since Sweetie Pie and I sleep most nights with an eight-month old baby in between us. I swear the kid wants to make sure he remains an only child.

How did I go about to lose eight inches from my wiggly jiggly body? Simple. I've been living on diet bars for breakfast and lunches of McDonald's Happy Meals. I've found the key to weight loss and it resides with a plastic toy in a bag.

I've also been going to my baby and mommy stroller fitness class twice a week, for the most part, and have gone on one or two walks around the neighborhood with Baby Boy.

That and the fact that my instructor measured me over very baggy clothes at the beginning of the month and I wore tight clothing at the end of the month when she re-measured me, probably causing me to be four inches thinner in the process.

Either way, this eight inches, as inaccurate as it might be caused me to celebrate with two things: a large order of Steak and Shake fries, only the greatest fries on this side of the Atlantic Ocean, and a shopping spree at Old Navy.

Once I got to Old Navy, with Baby Boy, of course, I began to throw clothes in the cart. I found a pair of Daisy Duke like shorts, except for the fact that they didn't second as a thong, they were long enough to not scare young children with my cellulite. I also found a pair of cute, cute jeans, a pair of pinstripe cute, cute grey pants and some other stuff.

In the change room, I began to try on pants and couldn't close the cute, cute jeans. I figured that I was quite close to being able to close them, so I figured, give me another month and hopefully I can suck enough of my gut to fit into them. It's good to have goals.

The grey pants look like they're painted on to my body, but they do close, and since they were cute, cute, I decided to get those too. Around that time, Baby Boy decided he was bored and so began to sound like a wolverine whose cubs are being taken away and that's when I decided to make a run for the cash register. I decided that I'd get the cute, cute jeans and cute, cute pants and the t-shirts and baby pj's that were in the cart. At the cash register, I was busy telling Baby Boy not to rip off all the dangly signs from the cash register to really pay attention to the scanning of my items.

Once I got home, I was emptying the bag and there they were. The Daisy Duke shorts that I'd completely forgotten about. And somehow purchased. But never tried on.

And so I gave them a good shake and began to try them on. I got them past my ankles without any problems, then past my calves, still good. But somewhere just past my knees, things began to get a little claustrophobic. I somehow squeezed my hips in and then came the Herculean task of closing not only the zipper, but the button too.

And guess what? I got them on. They have literally become a second skin on me and when I remove them, every single seam and thread is permanently tattooed onto my body. But they fit.

Of course, I've got to wear an ultra baggy shirt, because all the fat that usually resides in my hip and tummy area and was kicked out of the neighborhood because of my denim shorts has to go somewhere. I now have a floatation device located just under my boobs. If I wore my shorts to get liposuction, I would make the doctor's life so easy, because all the fat is reunited like a high school class ten years later. And they all seemed to have fun, because even after I took the shorts off it took them awhile to return home. They just hung around for a while, wondering if it'd be another ten years before they got to get back together.

Love,

Catwoman.

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