Every summer it’s the same thing: ‘I’m going to lose the last 30 pounds so I can rock a bikini and be a super fox forever.’
I start out with good intentions, I start eating better, I work out, I get so pumped I become addicted to it.
21 days is what they say it takes to break a habit and making something new and fresh ingrained in your body. Here’s the thing, 21 days isn’t long enough for this girl. I hit day 21 and my brain goes ‘Hey, psst, hey…let’s eat that, we’ve worked hard. We deserve it.’
Fuck you Brain.
Because it’s exactly one week until my best friends wedding and I have somehow gained 15 pounds since I’ve moved home and no matter what I try I can’t lose it. So I have 45 “last few pounds” to go now. I’m fucked.
Please God, if you love me at all: Don’t let me be the fat bridesmaid.
The dress that months ago fit like a glove and made me feel like a super fox now makes me feel like I’m being squished while somehow making me still look hot. I don’t understand the magical properties of this dress, but there it is.
I have tried eating right, I’ve tried smoothies, I’ve given up starches, tried calorie counting, I’ve gone on Herbal Magic, and now here I sit one week before the wedding and I can’t even remotely give a fuck about losing weight anymore because there is something more important than the fat on my body:
My best friend is marrying the love of her life.
I’m focused on my best friend having a great time at her wedding and thinking how much easier it is to just find a body-shaper that’ll hold it all in so that I can sit down without splitting my dress up the butt. (She’s agreed that that will be hilarious and not embarrassing at all and she can’t wait for it to happen. Dick.) Before the decision to stop focusing on myself and completely focus on them, I made a game plan for afterwards to make myself shut up.
The day after her wedding I’m going to eat a poutine and start again.
I have not given up on my body, summer isn’t the only time of year I want to be healthy. It’s just the only time of year I have the desire to lay around without most of my clothing on since it’s hot as hell. I will not give up on myself, I will move onwards and upwards from here and work, work, work.
I can FINALLY exercise again after having to stop because I was getting an ass instead of a butt and those two inches of rocking ass I gained were too much for the bridesmaids dress. That’s right. I had to reflatten my butt. A hilarious coincidence in my life since most people want a rocking ass for such events and dresses.
Keep moving forward.
The wedding has come and gone and here I am, the same weight in spite of having said poutine. We can also add Filet o’ Fish meal (made my ENTIRE body feel like garbage), so many chips…just so, so many. And ice cream up the wazoo.
The wedding itself was one of the most enjoyable experiences of my life, the food was amazing, the dancing was stupendous (clocked in a literal 2 hours straight of it), and I stayed sober because I was having so much fun I didn’t need to drink in order to talk to people. (Whoa Anxiety Girl, what are you saying?! You get nervous talking to people you’ve known your whole life! I know right? Wedding magic.) I cried a handful of times (I completely blame that on the brides dad.) and got so jazzed my friend was getting married I’m pretty sure I was the fastest bridesmaid up the aisle.
I fit into my dress with the help of super spanx and another bridesmaid and the bride herself forcing the zipper up. (It’s a fickle zipper, it had nothing to do with fat…or so I’m telling myself.) And a special shout out to my little sister who every time I had to pee came with me and shoved her hand down my dress in order to pull the spanx back up. Yes. That happened. I’m stupid and got the kind that are shorts that go up to my boobs because Papa has thighs and they chafe and then I would have to pull my dress up to my neck, pull the spanx back up and wiz. This happened until about 11 pm where I ripped them off and tossed them in the trash in the bathroom because Fuck it.
I looked hot from head to toe anyway, I told you: That dress is pure magic.
I was not the “fat bridesmaid” even though everyone else is skinnier than me, I didn’t look like a monster beside them, I looked like a shapely hottie because that was the entire reasoning behind that specific dress being chosen. In the brides words: I want my bitches to look hot.
The bride looked like a babe all day in spite of the rain and the only way I could be happier for them is if they have a honeymoon baby. Which they promise isn’t going to happen come hell or high water. Come on guys, I gave you a salad spinner, the least you can do is make me that weird lady your kids call Uncle Al because Aunt Alli sounds ridiculous. Haha
Love and light bitches.