So contrary to what I’ve always believed – that I would be the lone holdout- the one woman who wouldn’t waste even 10 minutes of her day making an elliptical machine my bitch.. well I’ve, in some ways, become exactly that woman.
But let me be perfectly clear- I don’t EVER want to be a size zero again– I don’t want to walk around with a permanent scowl scarfing down coleslaw like its liquid gold. Buy I also want to live past the age of 68 or do my damn near best to maintain these organs I was given, and contrary to what I’d like to believe just not eating big macs everyday is not going to keep me living long. I actually understand now- that I have to move, even though I would so much rather welcome any extra poundage I accrue and look the other way as my jean size increases exponentially– if I want to attempt to avoid so many of the hereditary diseases I carry with me inside each andÂ in every one of my cells.
So although I used to give my husband the silent treatment for several days after he’d take away my third blueberry waffle dripping in butter ad syrup- tonight when he took my hand off the freezer door as I was about to reach for a Carvel cup (yeah what the hell are they doing in my freezer if I cant eat them– it’s those DAMN kids I have) he gently pulled my hand away- and handed me a grapefruit.
He said he was, ” saving me from myself”. And while normally that would warrant an all out power struggle with him, me giving him a death stare and throwing an expensive vase at him (on the carpet of course). This time, I accepted it and I took the grapefruit and forgoed the ice cream. But this time I’m doing it for me, not for him or any other guy.