Friday, August 20, 2010

The time of year to plan our winter escape is here again.  Each year we head to Mexico, and each year there are fewer and fewer pictures of me taken.

Since being diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis four years ago, I've been slowing accumulating fat around my muscles - I do have a six pack under four inches of yellow, lumpy fat.  I'm also a mortician so I know first hand what body fat looks like under the skin.  GROSS!

Two years ago my husband Brad accompanied me to a swim-wear store at the mall.  Even though my blood pressure hit the roof as soon as I stepped foot into the store, I was comforted a little by the fact that the sales lady was over weight as well.  I chose a couple of one piece bathing suits and silently mourned the bikinis I had purchased the years before - they were dead to me now.  I also chose two resort dresses; one of which was a convertible style that you could wear eleven different ways.

The jolly sales lady hung my potential purchases in an empty change room.  My husband said he would wait close by and that he wanted to me to show him how they looked.

First I tried on the black suit with a plunging neck line.  I'm also flat-chested, so this style seemed futile on my figure.  It was like advertising a Smart Car at a Porsche dealership. Brad scrunched his face and shook his head with disapproval.  Next was a brown tummy-trimming one piece that seemed to do what it promised to do.  My legs still looked like tree trunks but at least my belly had some shape again. Brad said it looked great. This was the one I chose.  I then tried on the convertible dress, which was made of a clingy T-shirt material.  Looking like an overstuffed sausage, I reluctantly opened the dressing room door, and as much as Brad tried, he couldn't cover the look of...what's the word for it...fiasco on his face.  Tears defiantly filled my eyes, and I closed the change room door.

I have an affliction; I cry much too easily.  As hard as I willed myself to keep it together, the tears kept coming.  I changed as quickly as I could, I opened the door, I passed the one brown bathing suit to my husband, crying, and said "I gotta go. Please buy this for me", and I exited the store bawling.  I'm sure that all the people who were sitting in rest area just outside the store knew exactly why this plump woman ran out of the store crying.  I headed for the bathroom, and once I felt stable enough to face my husband, I walked back to the entrance of the store where he was waiting for me.  I have a wonderful husband; he put his arms around me and just hugged me.  He knew saying anything would sound like appeasement, so he just kissed my cheek and we left the mall.

Last winter, I decided to head back to that store to buy another one piece.  I was determined to get in there and get out without any drama.  See, I had already resigned my mind to the fact that this is the body I have, so I just had to make the most of it...a little defeatist, but hey, it is what it is.

I purchased a $160 black boostier style strapless, gathered, one piece.  Much more than I could afford, but I justified the purchase as my reward for having to see myself in a bathing suit each year.  It was much to nice to wear in the ocean or the pool, but it looks hot with a pair of dressy capri pants.

So, now it is that time of year again.  I haven't lost any weight, but I haven't gained any either.  The thought of being seen in a bathing suit is making me nauseas again.  I can't go through my yearly ritual of treating myself to a new suit; it takes too much out of me.  Having let myself down again - I promise myself each summer that I'm going to be beach ready by winter - I find myself trying to talk my family out of going on vacation this winter.  I say, "we should save the money, and go someplace different next year" or "we should put the money toward our car loan" or "why don't we do something special for Christmas at home".  I don't see any sign in my family that they will concede and agree with me.

My only option now is to loose as much weight as possible in the next three months.  Cabbage soup it is.

I'll talk at you later.


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1 comment:

Cheryl said...

Hey, been there, done that! I no longer cringe at going out in public with my plump body encased in a swimsuit. Heck, if somebody doesn't like it, it's their problem. Not mine.