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August 9, 2011 / ilegirl

Confession

I have a deep and dark secret.  I’ve carried this burden in silence for a long time, and even now that I’ve made some peace with it on the inside, it’s a difficult thing to publicly acknowledge.  Which is why I feel I must now publicly acknowledge it.

I’ve gained weight.

No, not just a little – enough to make me look 4 months pregnant.  If not for all those grey hairs, the little gals in Finance at the office would flock to my belly in glee and ask breathlessly When are you due?

Okay, I’m due to lose the flab.

I’ve never been someone who considered foundation garments for anything but the most basic or erotic purposes, and when I found myself thinking about getting some Spanx and shopping for elastic-waist trousers, the realization struck that my middle-age physique isn’t quite as trim as my pre-middle-age physique.

Really, it was when I typed these words into the google search box that I was startled into myself:  flat elastic waist cotton pants for women.

It’s not that there’s anything wrong with elastic waist pants.  Here’s a not-disgusting pair:

And I already own some trousers with stretchy or elastic waists, and like them just fine.

I suppose the sad thing for me is to realize that the days of body ease are in the past.  It’s one of those necessary losses in life which provoke a minor little grief; the girl-child waif is gone as some chick with thunder thighs has consumed her.  But it’s more than that.  It’s the miscellaneous aches and pains in the morning, the crunching noise my left shoulder makes during a yoga stretch, the way it’s difficult to get comfortable in bed despite curling around a body pillow – these are the discouraging signs that my body is less resilient than in those golden days of yore.

Still, I remind myself that all of this is selective memory.  I never was the girl who could wear these:

MAISON MARTIN MARGIELA 1

Nope, my legs were too short.

I couldn’t have a haircut like this:

That’s a big no-no: my forehead is too high.

I can’t wear shoes like these:

Insa Heels

I’d (a) slip and break something, or (b) look ridiculous, or (c) look ridiculous as I slip and break something.

So while I do wish to rid myself of the flab, I’m not entirely unrealistic.  I won’t suddenly morph into Michelle Pfeiffer, get a big raise (though … I think I should ask my boss, what do you think of rewarding me for my extracurricular efforts toward helping to keep those group medical insurance premiums lower?), pay off my mortgage, or paste a big gold star on my forehead.

No, I’d much rather relish who I am.

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