I have been underweight my whole life. Smallest kid in the class all the years I was in school. Weighed 86# the first time I got pregnant. I come from small women.
That changed a few years ago, when a few pounds crept on. Then the next year, a couple more. You get where this is going. I can’t blame menopause because that happened ten years ago due to ruptured ovarian cysts. That was the summer I lost 13# due to the mess my body was. The good old days.
Today I ran into someone who is about 5-10 years older than me and T.H.I.N. Really thin. I told The Big Daddy about her when I got home and said maybe she’s one of those older woman who has an eating disorder. Poor thing. Or maybe she isn’t stuffing Fannie Mae candy in her mouth every time she goes in the kitchen. Maybe chips and salsa aren’t her mainstay. Maybe she exercises every day. Really exercises instead of moseying around the neighborhood with her elderly dog. Maybe she sweats.
I’m thinking that it’s time for me to stop listening to that inner voice that’s a complete whack job, and reverse course before I’m on the losing end of a bet to see if my fat ass could make it all the way to Des Moines.
