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Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Just For Laughs...

This article is for everyone who knows that swimsuit season is coming and is dreading it like the plague....I love you ALL!!





Gone, Baby, Gone by Vicki Glembocki

I remember so clearly the last time I saw it. It was hanging on the back of the door in a hotel bathroom. I thought to myself, "You'd better take that down or you're going to forget it." I didn't take it down--although I didn't remember that until months later, when I was packing up to go to a water park and opened the bottom drawer of my dresser, where it should have been. It wasn't there. It wasn't in any drawer. I started to panic. It wasn't in the laundry basket, either. Or my suitcase. Or the Goodwill bag. Or the pantry. Or the dishwasher. Or the glove compartment. It was gone. The best bathing suit I ever owned was gone.

We had found each other two years before. I was shopping at Target in mid-February, which is when the cruel people who run Target put bathing suits on display. It's also the time of year when I praise the inventor of sweatpants, since if it hadn't been for him I'd have no way to conceal the layer of whale fat that seems to form around my hips every winter. So there I was in Target, wearing sweatpants, hunting for hard taco shells and an economy box of Tampax, passing the swimsuits. And passing them again. And again. "Avert your eyes, Vicki!" I told myself, knowing how susceptible I am to the potential of finding a suit that might make me look skinnier than the one I currently own, how the very possibility tends to lure me into the Vortex of Pain that is the fitting room, where I'll have no choice but to disrobe. In front of a mirror. Under those nasty fluorescent lights. In February. But then I saw it: a tankini, all festive and flirty, with turquoise and white swirls. I snagged one in every size, weaved my cart to the fitting rooms, and handed the suits to the employee manning the Vortex of Pain and Pasty Skin, who looked at me as if to say "Are you crazy? It's February!" But I pushed onward, closing the door behind me so I could plot my strategy from within:

1. Face away from the mirror whilst disrobing.

2. Remove socks.

3. Start with the largest suit, because if it fits, you are done. And if it turns out you need to go down in size, you may be able to stop therapy.

4. Promise yourself that you will not look at your thighs.

5. Put on a little more lipstick so you at least look less dead.

6. Turn around.

7. Do NOT look at your thighs.

8. STOP looking at your thighs!

Once I stopped looking at my thighs, I realized that God did in fact exist. The bottom didn't dig into my hips and give me a muffin top. The halter made my boobs look bigger. The square of fabric that hung down in the front covered the area formerly known as my abs. And the best part: It was on sale. "Oh, glory be!" I thought, followed by an immediate reprimand: "You made this a bigger deal than you needed to, Vicki. You're so beyond all that immature body-loathing crap."Which is why I felt so relieved when I called the hotel to report the missing suit and the man at the front desk got back on the line after checking the Lost and Found box."I found it," he said."You did?!" I screamed as if he'd said Brad Pitt was knocking at my door. "I love you! No--really!" As soon as the package arrived, I opened it like there was something alive inside that needed to be set free. I pulled out the bathing suit: a lime-and-beige one-piece that would have been too small for Calista Flockhart after a colon cleansing. I grabbed the phone and called back the hotel immediately. I spoke to the manager. The valet. The woman who came in to water the plants. No suit. I e-mailed the manager. No suit. As I began to e-mail her again, I realized what a liar I was. All that cocky talk about how I'd evolved into a woman who embraced the fitting room? That power came from within--that is, from within a new bathing suit that didn't make me look like a rhino and protected me from having to get naked in Target for a long, long time. I pleaded with the manager, believing my sheer desperation could somehow make the suit materialize. I reminded her about the unbelievably horrible process of finding and purchasing a new suit, about stepping into the Vortex of Pain and Pasty Skin and Puckered Thigh Cellulite."Gasp," the manager wrote back. "I cannot imagine having to do that again!"


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I hope this article gave you all a little laugh and didn't just make you sick to your stomach!!

Bobbie e-mailed me today and said that she is going to face "D-day" tomorrow and weigh-in! Are you all ready to get back on the "horse"? Only a few more weeks of challenge left! Let's give it all we've got until swimsuit season is upon us!!

2 comments:

Bobbie said...

I'm still here on this journey! Irritated with myself a tad! I am up about 2lbs I think from the last time I weighed! I am so crazy busy I forget to eat then when I finally eat it is whatever is in sight! I believe we are starting lap four correct? So Start weight for this lap 173! I am getting in the 160s if it kills me! Definitely been getting a work out in now. After running saturday I remembered why I used to do it. Even if it is only the ellyptical because it is cold rainy and I am home with two children alone. Thank you Heather. Please keep encouraging me!

HealthyMahma said...

Bobbie, I am so proud of you!! You are doing great. You'll lose those 2 pounds in no time! Keep us updated!! Keep running!! Love you LOTS!!!