I have no willpower. None. Zilch. Nada. On Sunday and Monday I ate all the candy in our Easter basket except for the Lindt bunnies - the crown jewels of the candy menagerie. I was saving them for a special occasion. I take the term "special occasion" liberally, and I apparently thought a Wednesday evening was special enough, so I ate it.
After spinning class. I was still sweating.
I was planning on just eating the ears, but Matt went outside to trim our butterfly bush and left me alone. It was a dastardly two minutes of chocolately fingers and brazenly ripping foil wrappers. And you never just eat the ears.
A few people have commented on my candidness regarding my last post, where I was a little too eager to talk about my stomach paunch and "butt" scar. Even Matt, who I can safely say loves the flabby and floppy, asked, "You don't feel self-conscious writing that?" And I don't. I'll be 28 next month and making a crack about my not-so-smooth ass (get it, a CRACK?! okay, okay) is sincerely not the "I'll be the funny girl to cover my insecurities" shtick, it's simply that I have a dimpled posterior. (And really, who doesn't?)
Matt claims women do this to themselves (the primping and prettying and the agonizing) for other women. I think that lovable nerd is onto something.
So that's why I'm regaling you with tales of my rear-end front-end. If it's possible, I'm celebrating the not-so-sordid details of my body, because, my dear, who gives a damn? If you're lucky, you might also get a mouthful of the following, as well:
• Oprah arm jiggle (that's the under part of your arm that wiggles and jiggles when you wave, and I've got my fair share of it)
• stretch-marked thighs that refuse to part (and thus eventually ruin every pair of pants I own)
• less-than-perky bosom (at barely 28, and childless, I'm a little confused about this)
• thin hair (I am convinced I'll be a bald old lady and was happily surprised at the fabulous wig offerings of Raquel Welsh)
You know those women who own their imperfections? Who strut and make it work? They have charisma, chutzpah and, to channel Tyra Banks, are "fierce".
I am not one of them. And I'm fine with that.
I remark on my imperfections because I just don't care that much. If I don't care about my wiggle, you certainly won't. But that's not to say I wouldn't take thick hair and toned arms if I had the chance- of course I would - let's not get all crazy here! But I'm done thinking about it, and this much I know is true: A "butt" scar will forever be funny.