Once again Scary Mommy let me contribute. She posted this and I think wives everywhere agree.
Once again Scary Mommy let me contribute. She posted this and I think wives everywhere agree.
*And just let me say, I don’t mean fat people don’t rule, or regular, average size people don’t rule. It’s just for the sake of my skinnier than normal husband- okay?
In defense of skinny people that wish they weren’t so thin- this post is for you. (Seriously, not many have sympathy for you.)
Also, this is a chance for me to complain needlessly about the skinny people I live with. My husband and two children. I’m a size 6/8 and I’m the fat one. Please don’t take this the wrong way- I don’t want anyone griping at me for my gripes. You try living with Jack Sprat.
This will also be categorized under posts that my husband will roll his eyes at.
My husband is 6’2″ and about 150 pounds or so. He’s 41 and has weighed the same since 1988. It’s really a freak of nature how he stays so thin. That, or he has a tapeworm.
Try being around a guy that is skinnier than you after you’ve passed week 16 of a pregnancy. I outweighed him most of the last 12 years. It’s a bitch.
I’m sorry James.
I’m always complaining about how I would like to lose 10 pounds. I USED to have a fast metabolism. And it’s not slow as a sloth slow, but it isn’t what it used to be. Pregnancy changed all that. I could put away a Mexican dinner at one setting. I barely exercised and you could see my ribs. I wore a size 2 easily. Now I fight for every pound to NOT gain. I have practically eliminated alcohol intake, have become a ‘sort of vegan’(The Reluctant Vegan). Work out. A few times a week. I definitely can do better. I love carbs. I love bread and corn. Popcorn, corn chips, tortilla chips. Corn is the bane of my muffin top. Bread is too. White bread sometimes with butter, but not since giving up dairy. Avocados are my new vice. With chips of course. Curse them. My metabolism has predictably slowed. I’m almost 40. It’s bound to happen.
I remember in my 20s feeling upset over zits I had. Not serious acne, just troublesome, gross white heads on my chin. Ugh. It drove me nuts. I would make deals with God to clear up my skin. I would ask him if I could be 10 pounds heavier if I just had clear skin. My skin is clear now. What is the statute of limitations on deals with God?
Then there’s tapeworm boy (I’ll explain this later.): James will have a bowl of ice cream EVERY night. He can eat a bag of chips while he watches a football game. He never eats breakfast and he rarely exercises- hello? Two of Dr. Oz’s rules for losing weight- he breaks! He puts sour cream and cheese on everything. He can eat a box of Kraft mac and cheese. But then on the flip side- he’ll ‘forget’ to eat. Yeah, that’s such bull shit! He’ll work from home, have a latte in the morning, forget to eat, then at about 2 in the afternoon realize he’s famished. See? Total bull shit. Who does that? I am starved by 11 am and need 2nd breakfast like a Hobbit or something.
There was a time about 20 years ago he tried to bulk up. He protein loaded and worked out all the time. I think he put on about 5 pounds of muscle in about 4 months. Waaa, waa, waa. (That’s me fake-crying.)
I hate when his side of the family makes a big deal about his thinness. As if it’s something new. When was he ever chubby? Never!
It seems like Owen is following in James’ skinny footsteps. He’s a bean pole with no meat on him. A Jack Sprat type like his dad. He doesn’t like being asked about why he’s so skinny. James doesn’t really like it either. It’s not fun to poke fun at anyone’s appearance regardless if they’re skinny or fat. (“Real” women have curves- Really …?)
Recently, James is embracing his skinniness. Especially since his peers are starting that tire around the middle. His brother jokes that he has a tapeworm. This makes total sense. He can only eat this much and NOT gain weight, if he was feeding a creature in his abdomen like Alien. Not to worry, he doesn’t exhibit any other signs of having a parasite. His cholesterol is safe, especially for his age (40s), and he’s otherwise healthy. So when we go out to dinner and he orders his Fettucini Alfredo with a side of garlic bread and a ceasar salad with extra cheese, he pats his tummy and says, “gotta feed the tapeworm”. Oh geez.
Well alright then. Hey, skinny guys rule. (James’ motto)
Plus, in 20 years when he’s 60, I think it will catch up with him. Now we just need to figure out his Mcdreamy head of hair. He’s had the same hair since high school too. Like I said- the guy is a freak of nature. In a nice way though. And I wouldn’t change a thing. Love you babe!
Some cute and skinny famous guys:
Let me be clear here folks. I will not mince my words. Being a female sucks. Puberty is a bitch, pregnancy and labor are hell and menopause and all the in between is ugly.
Men- let’s see… they go through puberty. They get boners in PE class if they see an elbow of an 8th grade girl. So what? Then when they get old and can’t get a boner from seeing a woman’s elbow, they take a pill to help with that. I will not sympathize with the male species. Sorry.
Lately I’ve been having, female issues. That’s code for menstrual cramps worse than normal. I think I lost about half of you at this sentence. But before you completely click on over to ESPN or Maxim or whatever, Golf Digest, for crying out loud- this may be helpful for you. You probably have a wife or girlfriend who has been through the same thing. You might use this as a cliff’s notes reference guide for the future.
I had to go to my gynecologist which is in the big, shiny city. There’s a parking garage with stalls the size of shoe boxes and elevators that are slower than sloths at feeding time. There’s usually a 15 minute wait in the waiting room, on top of a 20 minute wait in the exam room while wearing a paper gown. Usually my luck is when the nurse calls me back to the exam room, I’m caught off guard somewhat engrossed in my People magazine (thank God they have those in the waiting room and not just copies of Parents or Fit Pregnancy!), and I follow her to the room where she asks me how I’m doing, how are the kids, blah blah blah. Checks my blood pressure and then has me step on the scale. I haven’t even undressed yet and I kind of have to pee. I don’t want to make her wait while I use the bathroom, so I slip off my shoes and suck in my gut and step on the scale. I don’t know why I suck in my gut, I just do. They have digital scales now, not those old fashioned types like from The Walton’s anymore. You’d think these would be to my advantage since it’s like the one I have at home.
The nurse has me read the number. I really didn’t want to see the number thankyouverymuch, but okay. It’s 1_ _ !! Yeah, like I’m going to print it. 10 pounds more than last January, 8 pounds more than my scale at home, and 15 pounds more than the scale in the Bellagio hotel bathroom in Vegas that James and I stayed at 4 years ago. ( I loved that bathroom scale.)
I felt like someone punched me in the gut.
She has me put the gown on and wait. But I did sneak off to the bathroom before getting undressed. So in the privacy of my room, once I was undressed, I stood on that stupid, f*cking scale again, and I was 2 whole pounds lighter! Well amen to that!
I was sure to tell my doctor this when she came in with my chart.
I like my doctor. She’s very nice. Especially for a hoo-hoo doctor. She didn’t deliver my kids because she only started with this practice 4 years ago, and I miss my old doctor, but this doctor is a pleasant replacement.
After getting prodded (‘scoot a little further down the table please’) she sent me for blood work and an ultrasound in the coming weeks.
The lab for blood work was just down the stairs. So I sat there waiting for 20 minutes (not bad really) and was starving since it had been 4 hours since my morning oatmeal. But I was thinking that between being hungry and depending on how much blood they draw, I can count on losing another pound.
The phlebotomist was a funny guy that talked about heavy metal bands with me, of all things. I don’t mind getting my blood drawn. It hurts, I don’t look, and I hate the cotton ball with the piece of tape around it afterwards, but there’s worse, so I manage.
I’m on my way to the parking garage now, find my parking stub, drive up the swirly parking garage lanes to the top and then get the joy of paying the attendant on the way out.
Going to the doctor is so flippin’ expensive.
Because now I’m depressed since I’m thinking of all the weight I’ve gained, my ovaries and how I hope there’s no tumors on them. Or maybe I do because if they take them out (the tumors, not my ovaries) that could be a few pounds I lose right there.
So I go where any girl would. The mall. I need croissants and tea, and I need them stat.
Tea, croissants, and some makeup is all it takes to get this girl on track again. Well, not really. I was still sulking during my car ride home and then went to go cry on James’ shoulder while he worked from home today.
The good man he is asks, “Would you like some wine?” It was 2 in the afternoon, he was kind of kidding, but he knew what to say. Heaven forbid if he said, “oh you just need to go to the gym more times than you sit on the couch writing on your blog”, I would have smacked that ass hat across the room. (Ass hat is my new favorite word by the way, I will be using it more now.)
So I leashed up the dog and ran around the block listening to Adele and Mumford & Sons. Sometimes when someone is sadder than you it makes you feel better. I even gave James half my croissant.
So you see fellas (who are still reading and haven’t clicked over to Maxim yet), if there’s one thing you get from this post- just get your woman a glass of wine for God’s sake.
Here is the chart James has laminated in his wallet:
I hate when I’m wrong. When I’m right, I like to rub it in. Nicely, but rub it in good. Saying I TOLD YOU SO, is very gratifying. Especially in marriage.
Here’s the shiz– I got a speeding ticket in the school zone at Emma’s middle school. Craptastic. It has one of those flashing school zone lights with the auto camera that flashes if you go over the speed limit and they mail you the ticket. When it was first installed James got a warning mailed to him. Boy did I ride him on that one. And don’t get your bloomers in a bunch- I nagged him incessantly on why he needs to heed to the 20mph law for that strip of road. It’s a school zone for pete’s sake, they don’t put those signs up for nothing, I yelled.
So what happens? An envelope comes in the mail that HE opens (I need to get the mail first apparently) and was actually feeling guilty thinking it was his (the cars are registered in his name). He politely says, ‘the Honda Odyssey was photographed in front of the school on Dec. 8 at 2:38 pm going 29 in a 20’.
I wanted to answer, ‘oh, that was the day some punks took the minivan for a joyride and happened to drive by the school’. But instead, I just looked at him and said, ‘yeah, so?’
Hubs- “looks like it won’t go on your driving record and will just be a parking infraction.”
Me (nonchalantly)- “oh, lucky me. How ironic since I always nag you about that huh?”
Hubs- “yep, surprised it was you not me.”
Me- “aren’t you going to rub it in?”
I hate when he’s the better man. Dammit.
So then I said, “the good news is I returned the library books that were way over due and they were going to charge us for and they found the one that was turned in but they thought was missing and were going to make us pay for, so really my money is just going to the city anyway.” (okay, our library is a County library, but give me a flippin’ break)
The point is- What I thought I saved in library books fees, I owe in speeding tickets.
And gosh darn it, James is nicer when it comes to rubbing stuff in my face. So there. I said it.
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