As has been eluded to in previous blogs, I was not a thin child. Let me clarify, I have never been "thin." I have always been various degrees of fat, more fat, less fat, chubby, big boned, I think I had "baby fat" until I was 22. No, seriously, I had some MAJOR weight issues as a kid and early teen. In fact, I had gastric bypass at the tender age of 15. Best decision of my life.
So these days I'm anywhere from 80 to 100 lbs. lighter than I used to be. That's right people, I weigh less now, than I did in 6th grade. I'm still embarrassed about my weight. In fact, just today we were buying life insurance for my husband and they were taking my information as the beneficiary. They asked for my height and weight as part of the questionnaire. What the crap does my weight have to do with my ability to collect thousands of dollars if my husband dies? Are they afraid I'm going to buy $250,000 worth of Ding Dongs (It's a possibility). Here's the sad part. I lied! I pride myself on being completely honest, and I could not bring myself to say my real weight out loud so I lied. I only shaved off 3 pounds, but it sounded so much better.
I just told my husband. He laughed and said, "Why didn't you say 160?" FYI, that would have been shaving off quite a few more than 3 pounds. I said, "They're not morons, they could see me."
Moving on. Now, you've all seen some plastic surgery makeover show where the person have something like 327 inches of extra skin on their bodies. My body, not that extreme, but I've got some saggy skin. We've already discussed the thigh slapping issue, so we don't have to go there. Let's just say, I'm not a perfect physical specimen.
On with the story. 6 years ago, Steph and I were both living at home for the summer. She had just returned from her mission, and I was home between semesters. It was supposed to be the best summer ever, but by the time I got home from school she was already seriously dating Travis. Grrrrr. Did I mention she'd only been home 4 or 5 weeks. I had some real issues with Travis...ruining my perfect summer and all. Don't worry, I'm over it now.
ANYWAY, (holy crap, this is as bad as talking to me. no more tangents, I promise) Steph and I come home from work one Friday. My dad is out of town so we're thinking Par-tay. My mom comes into the room and the conversation goes something like this...
MOM: Let's go to dinner!
STEPH & I: Yeah!! Sweet. Let's go.
Visions of Red Robin and Olive Garden fill our heads.
MOM (excited, with crack eyes)...Okay I know I promised no more tangents, but you have to know this about my mom. She is a very enthusiastic woman and when she gets really excited her head shakes and she gets these really big eyes, which we have affectionately named, Crack Eyes. I just realized that the description of this sounds like a seizure, but it's not.
MOM (excited, with crack eyes): Let's go to Costco!
My parent's LOVE to eat at Costco. It is weird. They don't live on a fixed income. They make plenty of money and live well below their means. They could easily afford any of the above mentioned restaurants, but they LOVE Costco food.
ME (really disappointed): Moooomm, Costco? Are you kidding? That is so white trash. Let's go somewhere good.
MOM: Costco is good.
So I grumble off to my bedroom to change out of my work clothes. Then I get this brilliant idea. If my mom wants to eat at Costco, I'm going to dress for the occasion. This is not going to end pretty.
I start to giggle and put on a tank top I use strictly as an undershirt. It hits just below the bra line, so it is short. Its straps are very close to the neck, almost like a halter, so my colored bra straps are hanging out for all the world to see. As are my nasty arms that have the hanging skin previously discussed.
I start to actually laugh out loud when I pull out a pair of shorts from high school that are at least 2 sizes too small and 6 inches too short. The laugh is stifled a little as I lie down and suck in to get them zipped. This is a challenge in itself. You know the situation this is creating just above the waistline. The chub that won't fit in the shorts is hanging over the top in a serious way. Keep in mind I have the short tank top on too.
I then put some socks on my glow-in-the-dark-white, hairy legs and jam my feet into my yellow flip flops. I am laughing out loud at myself at this point, which is only making the situation worse/better because it makes said chub jiggle more.
I strut out into the living room and announce, "I'm ready to go to Costco, Mom." Luckily, it was my mom and not my dad. She laughed until she cried. We all did. Then I went and changed. I wasn't going to seriously leave the house like that. I can't remember what happened next. I don't remember if we ate at Costco or not. Let me be clear, I too love Costco food. I'm certainly not knocking it. It just wasn't what I wanted that particular night.
Later my mom said we should have taken a picture of the "White trash outfit." I'm not sure if she had blackmail in mind or what. Maybe she wanted to show it to my husband the night before we got married so he would know what he was committing to for eternity. That's another story for another blog.
And no Abby, I will not recreate this for a photo.