But let me tell you here and now Mister Inappropriate, I will never forget you.
I went out front to soak up a few rays of sun yesterday because for the first time in months not only was the shiny ball of glorious gas lighting up my front porch, but it was also warm. Like over 85 degrees warm! That’s spring in New England, one week it’s raining and 50 the next an almost 38 year old is being cat-called in front of her house because some random guy has developed a severe case of spring fever.
Its no secret that lately I’ve been, oh how can I put it?, lax about working out. My body really isn’t what I remember from the days of my youth as a hot little petite Irish athlete. For some reason I could eat anything I wanted back in those days and never seem to put on a single ounce. I was 105 pounds from seventh grade until, oh, about six years ago. Six years ago I had pretty much just slid into my thirties and marriage.
The world seemed wide open still and I saw no reason why guys would stop finding me attractive just because I had a couple rings on a certain finger of my left hand. I mean it wasn’t as if I planned to follow through on it or anything but hell, a girl likes to know she’s still hot.
About six years ago I started to put on a few pounds. I didn’t grow morbidly obese or anything like that, but I certainly started feeling less and less comfortable in my skin. A birthday suit that was stretching a little too far for my personal comfort. But when I went up a couple cup sizes and a back size, I decided to put my foot down.
And I put that foot down right in the front door of McDonalds and decided not to give a damn! Yeah, that’s right! Say it with me now -- bring on the fried mystery meat wrapped in cardboard! Yippie!
So what if my face was breaking out constantly and my pants didn’t fit anymore. So what if I started wearing sweatpants everywhere and thick, oversized hoodies in the middle of summer. So what if my tan lines were horizontal because when I sat down in the beach chair my rolls folded over themselves creating caverns that were never to see the light of day. So what if I could hardly touch my toes anymore.
I was still funny. I was still married to a guy who told me how much he loved me no matter what. And we had gone on the journey together so it wasn’t like I was completely alone in my weight gain. We enjoyed all the finer things in life together. Namely a lot of beer and fast food because who could afford anything else?
About two years ago after we got back from our summer vacation we both looked at the pictures of ourselves and I’m pretty sure the reaction went something like
AHHHHHHH!!!!! NOOOOOOOO!!!!! WHAT HAVE WE DONE?????
It was so time to make a change. I bought and started using my treadmill all the time and last year we both invested in P90X. I was starting to feel pretty good, fast food had all been cut out of my diet and working out became a daily routine.
Then we “graduated” from the program. Then we sold the treadmill in anticipation of our move.
And with all that over and almost ten pounds lighter what did I do? I went right out and bought a bag of Munchos, a piece of cheese cake and a big old margarita, that’s what! It was time to celebrate! Wait, celebrate you say? Then hell let’s have three margaritas! Yippie!
I hover somewhere around ten pounds heavier than I want to be everyday but I just can not seem to give up food and booze. Sorry, but I love it all. Yeah salad is awesome, sure, but give me a big plate of loaded mashed potatoes on the side of that salad plus a bacon and blue burger and we’re good to go. Oh wait, as soon as you pour me a nice, rich and chocolaty stout to accompany it all.
So the thing is I didn’t even realize that it bothered me that I was hiding under a bunch of clothes until this afternoon when it was simply way too warm outside to do that. So I tossed on my boob-log shelf bra thingie, a tee shirt covered in paint and my standard uniform of sweats and flip-flops then went out on the front porch.
As soon as I got out there I saw that a garbage truck was meandering down the street picking up house after house so there was a pretty substantial line of cars growing behind him. I pulled out my phone and texted a friend about dinner plans on Saturday and the line of traffic moved a little.
I tilted my face up to the sun and soaked in as much happiness as I possibly could. I let my lips relax into a little smile just knowing that the warm weather was here to stay and then my phone vibrated in my hand.
Next thing you know I hear a whistle. And then, as I’m opening my phone to respond to my friend I hear the words “hey gorgeous”.
Now not to sound like a conceited brat or anything but this used to happen to me a lot when I was twenty two. I was a fashionista and super cute and just one of those girls who walked down the street with my head held high all the time.
Like I said, I was twenty two. Not thirty eight with half washed hair and a muffin top spilling over the top of my sweats. Not out on my ghetto porch without a speck of makeup. Not looking like a bobcat just dragged me through the nearest bramble a few (hundred) times and left me to cook in the sun. Not looking like I only have one saggy boob.
Twenty two and cute.
I didn’t even know what to do. I was paralyzed with my head down and busily got back to the text message I was sending because A) I didn’t want to look up only to see him talking to someone else or worse B) look up at him and have him start laughing like stupid boys sometimes do.
Or C) glance over to see that he was still in his prison uniform because all I could think was ‘man it’s been a while since that guy saw a woman huh?’
But seriously it took every ounce of my body and soul not to look up, run over to his car window and lay a big old sloppy wet one full-on the little townie’s inappropriate mouth. The line of traffic moved on shortly after that and I texted Matt to “complain” about what had happened but secretly inside I was beaming like a twenty two year old.
Guess I still got it. Even if it is all in my head.