Pudgy E-Lo (or this Squirrel Girls Winter Coat)
Those who know me know that I’m a completely narcissistic person. Especially my husband, who observes my grooming habits first hand. I blame my vanity on my family. My mom and dad are the same way, they primp, they trim, they curl. From years of observing them and being primped, trimmed and curled by them, now I must be clean, well-dressed, made-up and styled before I will consider leaving my house. There are some small exceptions to this of course. There have been many days when I’ve left for work unshowered because I woke up late, but I always manage to put on a bit of make-up and pull my hair back. I’ve gotten my routine down to not exceed 30 minutes most days, 45 if I have extra time to waste. Because believe me, I am a person who likes to take time doing things for myself. Unless it involves exerting myself, because I’m inherently lazy. Namely, exercise.
So you can imagine my dismay as I’ve begun to notice some extra poundage on myself… mainly around the lower half. I don’t know if it’s been there for a while and I’ve just noticed it since I’ve been spending a major part of my day on my ass instead of on my feet, or if it’s slowly creeping on whilst I am on my ass. At any rate, I look down in my chair and see the makings of quite a jelly belly and well-insulated thighs.
Of course I did it to myself. For months now (since Christmas) I’ve had an unending supply of chocolate, beer, pop, all sorts of sugary goodness. And I love it. I can’t live without it. It makes me happy… but looking at my waistline makes me very unhappy. On my dad’s side, all the women (and men) are skinny, and on my mom’s side all of the women are womanly. My brother is the skinny one, and I’m the womanly one. Thank god for that, at least for my brother’s sake. So, genetically I’m predispositioned to have a womanly figure. A breeding woman’s figure. Well, I’m not a breeding woman, nor do I plan to be anytime soon. So you can see where this is leading. Goddamnit. I have to start exercising. I have to not eat chocolately num nums all day. Crap. This sucks.
My pants are too tight, and not in a good way (Baroness can relate). So that’s where I draw the line. I did an hour of pilates and yoga last night, and every part of my body is sore. I still had sugar in my coffee this morning. I’m not quite ready for the withdrawal headaches.
I’m such a girl.
So you can imagine my dismay as I’ve begun to notice some extra poundage on myself… mainly around the lower half. I don’t know if it’s been there for a while and I’ve just noticed it since I’ve been spending a major part of my day on my ass instead of on my feet, or if it’s slowly creeping on whilst I am on my ass. At any rate, I look down in my chair and see the makings of quite a jelly belly and well-insulated thighs.
Of course I did it to myself. For months now (since Christmas) I’ve had an unending supply of chocolate, beer, pop, all sorts of sugary goodness. And I love it. I can’t live without it. It makes me happy… but looking at my waistline makes me very unhappy. On my dad’s side, all the women (and men) are skinny, and on my mom’s side all of the women are womanly. My brother is the skinny one, and I’m the womanly one. Thank god for that, at least for my brother’s sake. So, genetically I’m predispositioned to have a womanly figure. A breeding woman’s figure. Well, I’m not a breeding woman, nor do I plan to be anytime soon. So you can see where this is leading. Goddamnit. I have to start exercising. I have to not eat chocolately num nums all day. Crap. This sucks.
My pants are too tight, and not in a good way (Baroness can relate). So that’s where I draw the line. I did an hour of pilates and yoga last night, and every part of my body is sore. I still had sugar in my coffee this morning. I’m not quite ready for the withdrawal headaches.
I’m such a girl.
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