So as a woman of a certain age, I’ve started gaining some weight. It’s in that pattern that all the female mags describe…a couple pounds here, a pound or three there. And now, I’m at least 40 lbs over what I should be…maybe more.
No surprise, the weight gain impacts my wardrobe, putting some of my cutest outfits right out of reach. I’ve been tempted to go on a shopping spree but you know…the economy and my pocketbook are pretty battered right now.
As a result, I’ve whittled down my food intake and consciously made better food choices. I stopped having dessert. I’m trying to eat more salads and vegetables. And I’ve stopped getting a chocolate croissant in the morning.
This latest sacrifice has been the hardest to sustain. In fact this morning my resolve failed and I fully intended to buy a sweet treat of some kind, because my work load had been so enormous this week and I’d actually made it to my desk on time. Right before I planned to zip down to the cafeteria, I clicked on a link to read a bio on a writer who sounded a bit like me: zany, a book lover and an aficionado of fantasy and supernatural genres and a Latina. When the web page came up, her picture stopped me dead in my tracks. Not only did she look like me complete with glasses, short hair and a big toothy grin…she looked like me with an additional 40 lbs hoisted onto my extra 40. She was talented, working in a field I wished I were in, a published author and she was my future fat self.
I ran downstairs and bought an apple.
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