I have just come back from a trip and it required only for me to sit in a car for two straight days. It was an unexpected trip to say goodbye to a very dear person that I had known when I was younger. Going back home was wonderful and sad all at the same time. I saw people I have not seen in years, like since graduating high school. I got to see family and friends that I love dearly and so it was an emotional roller coaster.

When it comes to expected trips to go back home to see people, say for a reunion, I would typically put myself on a regiment of “Oh Fucking No, Don’t EAT That, they might not think you are thin and beautful still!” foods and “Holy COW can’t you even do a thousand more of this oblique crunches, my Gawd you are going to look your fucking AGE!!!!!” But alas, this was not a planned trip, so these people that I saw got to see my real “Why Yes I do eat chips and ice cream!” self. I brought my spanx and if you have not tried to put on a pair of spanx I am going to stop and wait for you to go and try on a pair because really we should all share in this torture………………………

……………okay if you still didn’t take the recommended time to put on a pair of spanx I am going to now try and describe it to you. Putting on a pair of spanx uses both sheer force of strength and the delicate touch so that you can shove the size and shape of a pear into a banana peel if that banana peel was made of lyrca. If you have nails they are going to break through and you are going to have open your second pair of spanx. Usually when this happens and your husband is sitting in the other room where he can hear you grunting and struggling and wrestling with the damn things until “Son of a Fucking Tomato” you say tomato because you don’t want to swear out loud at the hotel. And let me say “Good job” because it’s hard not to curse when you almost got all of your fat concealed before your nail went through the stupid things and now you have to wear your lycra wet suit complete with gut hanging over the top to get out your second pair. As you are scrounging around your luggage looking for your second pair that You are hoping that you packed because if you didn’t you are going to appear to have a rather large tumor popping out of your first pair of spanx, all the while looking like a broken can of pilsbury biscuits.

“Don’t Look at me I’m a monster!” you yell to your husband and then you get your next pair of spanx to squeeze into….your husband tries to be helpful with “Maybe you have bought the wrong size.” you decide not to kill him because he has to fix the leaky faucet when you get back home. But you definitely think horrendous thoughts because “no I didn’t buy the wrong size….these say small and I want to be small when I am done. So take your helpful hints and go fuck yourself buddy!”

The second pair go on without too much catastrophe and so what the spanx is giving you is a nice muffin top because you probably did buy the wrong size but you can stuff that into your bra and hope that it stays there.

Now that I have put myself through all of the torture of getting dressed and get to the funeral home I realize with great relief it isn’t about me or how fat I feel. This is about the great man that has passed and how missed he will be. How life will not be the same now that he is gone.

When I get home from this world wind trip I am emotionally and physically exhausted. In all of the unexpectedness of this trip, I forgot to go and get my dry cleaning and I have church the next day. I wake up and go through my closet and I choose a pair of pants that I know are going to be snug, but they button and zip and I am happy for that. I go outside and climb into my car and sit down and the FUCKING SEAM OF MY PANTS GIVES WAY TO THE POINT THAT THERE IS NO WAY I CAN WEAR THESE TO CHURCH. I can’t go to church with my coochie hanging out and now I have to decide what I am going to wear AGAIN. Luckily I just bought a pair of leggings that were the same exact color as my ripped pants. What luck. I threw on my new leggings and my heels and head off to church.

Now that I am home from church I am putting myself on the “YOUR PANTS BLEW OUT BEFORE CHURCH” diet, complete with food diary. I sorta hate myself for being this big right now and I honestly don’t even know how it happened. It wasn’t that long ago that I was actually underweight…..and happy being told to eat cupcakes. But I am no longer able to eat what I want and when I want without threat of starting a fire from my thighs rubbing together. Well that is really what I am going through. So I am hopefully learning from this experience and will get my weight under control. I will let you know.

Moral of my story: I don’t know really! Maybe don’t forget to get the dry cleaning, its important! Also eat better, I guess! And after a certain age you really have to cut calories. I am going to be super good at this. Chocolate is not our friend especially when it is covering a mountain of ice cream.

Until next time 🙂