I feel like a potato, a potato with legs, carrot legs, two stumpy thick carrot legs on a potato body. I wish I had the option to change my eyes and lips like “Mrs. Potato Head” but they didn’t come in the “Geriatric Potato Head” box.
I used to wonder, back in my skinny 20s, why women let themselves get to this condition. Then, I was hit with the end of my forties and a mean old guy named “Arthur Itis” moved in with me. I haven’t figured out how to get him to leave. I look in the mirror and wonder how I got to this spud stage.
I’m hoping it’s all just a phase, like the elephant leg pants we wore in the 70’s. They were pretty awful, today I need them for comfort sake, only now they could NOT be hip huggers. That would be just plain ugly.
It’s all so unfair. Men don’t seem to go through this widening process quite like women, at least not in my house. My husband plays racquetball with younger guys, runs circles around me, has high HDL’s and low LDL’s and just got a clean bill of health from the cardiologist.
I’m afraid of blood work, doctor scales, insurance companies and anyone coming at me with a needle (unless it contains those steroids that make you the Energizer Bunny for three days. That’s the only way to get my house clean. I try to get sick enough for those once every five years or so).
I would love to discover a magic pill that would make me thin and beautiful but I’m sure I wouldn’t be able to afford it and afore mentioned insurance pays for little or nothing already, a beauty pill would surely be out of the question.
I am sure losing weight would help the joint pain I experience but it is so much more difficult than it ever has been to make that happen. I don’t eat more than I used to. It just seems to stay with me permanently. I’m reminded of the woman in the commercial a few years ago who asked herself if she wanted to eat the honey buns or just stick them onto her thighs, only all the honey buns I eat go directly to the donut around my waist. It is sad but true.
I’ve tried exercising like I did in my youth. I walked two miles a couple of Saturdays ago. You’d think that would count for something. And heavens, all the bending and stooping to do laundry should have developed some real muscle after all these years. It just doesn’t make sense to me why I’m stuck in my potato body with these carrot legs.
I suppose it beats watermelon and zucchini.
