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March 20, 2016 / thackersam

Dear Friends

Skinny

Dear Friends:

Please tell me when I have a booger. Tell me when my eye makeup has blobbed under my eyes or if I have lipstick on my teeth. Tell me this dress makes me look fat, even though I ever feel the need to ask that question, I’m not buying the dress, and would be  much more likely to ask if my butt looks too big. My butt is big. Way back in my early 20s when I seriously had not a bit of flab due to sheer luck, and was no more than a size 5/6 at 5’6”, I had mentioned to a male friend that I had a big ass for someone my size. He shot back that I had a big ass for anyone’s size. I was amused. He probably had never seen a big-butted, thin woman before. Comes from the Italian side, and directly from my mother.

Oh, and let me know if there’s some sort of weird stain on the back of my pants or if my breath could choke an elephant. Say to me – Honey, before you go into that meeting you may want to pop a breath mint. If I stink, you could suggest I use a bit more deodorant or an extra shot of perfume. Please do this for me, and I will do the same for you.

I’m not having an easy time dropping the added winter weight, and after a tooth broke off the zipper of my favorite size 10 Levi’s (having nothing to do with my pudge), I culled through my other old jeans and thought I would try the Classic Gap’s. Unfortunately, they proved that I am not totally a size 10 yet. I could zip them up, and they looked good from the waist down, but I chose breathing over looks, and besides, there was that belly mess that was pushed up over the waistband that needed to addressing. The pants are now a goal. Instead, I am wearing the size 10 boyfriend jeans, my very first pair of size 10s that used to hang so low I was constantly hiking them up. They now fit comfortably on my waist. They’re not nearly as cute as the Levi’s nor Gap’s, but hopefully soon they’ll drop down a bit. Too much of the heal of my boot is showing. Back in high school, it was practically mandatory that the back hem of one’s jeans be worn and frayed. A rule I still adhere to.

BTW – There’s a liquor store on Church Street that has one of those big black and white signs in the window that reads “Jack Lives Here,” which is a good thing because he can’t live with me anymore. When I passed yesterday, the easel in front carried the sentiment in the picture that accompanies this post, of which I just could not reduce the size. Sorry. Now, I don’t think of myself as fat, however, I wouldn’t mind having the same consistency I had when I realized I was no longer a size 8.

 

 

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