As some of you might know, I’ve been on an odyssey of sorts over the past several months. It is, of course, my “weight loss imperative” and I’ve done quite well, for the most part. I think I’ve lost three to four pounds in two weeks. Yeah–I know, it’s a very slow process, but that’s the way I want it. You see, I’ve tried all the crazy fad diets that promised me If I ate nothing but okra and suet for three straight days, I’d lose 18 pounds by the fourth one. Insanity obviously, but dammit to hell, some of them worked! But it was an incorrect process. I’ve learned the hard way that losing weight too fast ONLY means you’ll gain it all back even faster.
I only weigh myself sporadically and sparingly. You know, at cotton gins, processing plants, and the like. I do that because I don’t possess scales…save for the ones from my Psoriasis. Therefore, I gauge how I’m doing by comments from friends and family and the change in the way my clothes fit.
So, on a dare to myself, I entered my closet and pulled out some cat fur that disguised a pair of jeans that haven’t seen the light of day since 2000. I put them on and guess what? I got the damned things on!! Sure, the zipper dug into my skin and I actually heard the seams moan but hey, at least I got them up and over MT. ASS!!!!!
Now, this was a TRIUMPH!!!!
I was feeling satisfied, cocky; confidence was high. So, I donned my walking apparel and headed out for my almost daily three mile trek. As I reached my 1.5 mile marker, I heard a car pull up behind me. Then, this guy started whistling.
OH MY GOD!!! A man was whistling…at me??? And then he shouted “Hey”, and started banging on the passenger door. Was he really trying to get my attention?? That hasn’t happened in years!!
Oh yes, I loved it!! I felt good and I know that I felt confident and confidence, to me, is sexiest thing a human can possess,, I slowed my pace and tossed my hair like actress, Marlo Thomas did at the end of her opening sequence from her mid-60’s sit com on ABC.
I felt kinda flirty, maybe even sexy.
I was all prepared to do a little vamping on Whistler’s Brother and I turned around, just in time to see him help his stray Golden Retriever into the back seat.
I was human embodiment of ego deflation.
They drove away and I stood there a minute. My pride, in case someone was watching, demanded that I act as though I’d dropped something and I paused for a second to scan the ground beneath me.
I felt as if I’d convincingly performed my scene; that I couldn’t find whatever I’d lost and then kept walking at an even brisker pace.
OK, so I’m not “That Girl”. It wasn’t a big deal.
Besides, he was NO Donald Hollinger!!!