I'm in my 40s, and a slow metabolism, gene pool, unhealthy eating and dislike of exercise have caught up with me. I can no longer ignore the mirror -- it's time to diet.
The breaking point was last week at work. I was meeting with someone when a late attendee (whom I had never met) walked in, looked around, and asked, "Is this the Weight Watchers meeting?" while making eye contact with me.
While he may have meant it as a joke (A POOR ONE), it was a figurative slap on the fat ass to get my eating habits in order. So, I joined Weight Watchers. (That is irony.)
|When chubby cheeks were cute|
I worry about my nieces and the images and the pressure that they receive to be skinny in order to be considered beautiful. Television, movies, magazines, Internet -- the list goes on and on. On a good day, I can almost convince myself that my outside doesn't decide the kind of person that I am. On a bad day, I don't even try to argue that point with myself.
How does a pre-teenage or teenage girl have the ability or maturity to have the same argument?
And as I feel myself getting all outraged about the unrealistic size and beauty expectations placed on women in our society, I feel guilty that I went to see "Magic Mike" this afternoon, a movie that blatantly exploits nice looking men. Am I being a hypocrite by turning around and gawking at men that don't look anything like 99% of the men in America?
Screw it. Those men were hot. And I think that I burned some calories watching them. And I didn't eat any popcorn. I feel no shame.