It’s all relative, but finally menopause has brought about an interesting phenomena. Although I go to weight lifting classes, jog, fast walk and eat lettuce for dinner, I am now, suddenly, without a waist!! Wow! Now I get it!
This obsession with the battle of the bulge. I used to think, “just eat less, fatso”, but now I GET IT. It doesn’t matter what you eat, or what you do, UNLESS you begin to live like a human being was meant to live– i.e. hunting and gathering various berries and carcasses, on the verge of starvation, without so much as a grocery store or drive-through to get you through the day. Even then, there is evidence that you will have a slight paunch where your belly button is.
Wow. This is magnificent. Within six months, NO CLOTHES fit. Suddenly it is all sarongs. Wrapping a rag around it. I turn over, at night, on my side and feel my stomach lying next to me, like a small pet, a new friend providing warmth and comfort, much like a down quilt. It is an honor to “hang out” with you. I mean that. It is about time that my body started presenting itself as my lifestyle warrants.
I just got back from the grocery. I was at the deli counter about to order a large cup of pitted olives and a pound of sliced smoked turkey. The man ahead of me ordered two pounds of Vermont cheese and salami. The deli slicer gave the man a large slice of the Vermont cheese and said “would you like a taste?” He offered the man a heavy slice of the cheese to“test” as he continued to slice up the pound. The man stood and ate the large slice of Vermont cheese with a nodding head. “Wonderful” he blubbered. Within a half minute he had ingested the equivalent of a days caloric intake for a family of four in Ethiopia. Just a taste.
What a wonderful country we live in. Pigs, feasting merrily at the trough, concerned about the thickness of our slices. I cannot believe my good fortune.
I am next in line. I am offered two thick slabs of both turkey and ham. I stand at the counter, in my baggy blouse and stretch pants, partaking of a free lunch, amazed that I am not obese. I am eating the free turkey and ham, standing up, at a deli counter in The United States of America. My pulsing chubby gut quivers with satisfaction and I say to myself “ who gives a shit if I ever get laid again anyway” and then, “ compared to other sex symbols in the industrialize countries, I am still considered thin. It is just that I‘m not used to seeing a layer of blubbery fat wrapped around my middle. Now I understand size medium, size large.But those women who wear size medium and large, friends of mine, are constantly fucking various men, husbands, etc. not concerned about silly things like a thick waistline. Oh! I get it! It doesn’t matter! Why didn’t someone tell me this years ago, when I cared about looking good, and looked good, and still couldn’t get anywhere with a man because the only thing that was fat about me was my mouth. A fat mouth trumps a fat middle by a mile.
So, bon appetite! Let my newfound wisdom allow me to indulge in my favorite chocolate fantasy! And if, for some reason, I decide that I want to have sex again before I die, all I need to do it buy a size large or very large lace g-string and see through silk caftan. Turn the lights down low. And keep my mouth shut.