You Always Lose it "There" First.

(a repost from my previous blog)

 

You’ve had it.  You’re tired of looking in the mirror and seeing yourself as frumpy and flabby… tired of the joke “you’re not fat, you’re fluffy”, and all the other ones that go with it.  Those old jeans still hang in the closet; you get them out for inspiration.  

This time you are serious. 

You have a ‘plan’. 

You’ve studied every Woman’s magazine for the last three months.  You have the most up to date information there is.   The magazines have offered some conflicting ideas, but you have compared them carefully and some have said the same things, so that is what you will do.  You know what to eat, how much… yada, yada, yada. 

You know this time you need to exercise too.   You’re ready, you have new Nike’s. 

You begin. 

It is working… 

You know the first 5 pounds is water, but you’ve moved beyond that.  You are still a long way from those blue jeans from yesteryears, but you’re well on your way… You know it… because suddenly your bra is way, way too big.  

Yep…  

You ALWAYS lose weight in your boobs first.  

Dang it!  Not again!!!     

You were barely a B cup to start with.  You were starting to feel so good, then you looked sideways in the mirror, and suddenly the spare tire in the middle was bigger than your boobs. 

It is not fair.  Those jeans are at least another 20 pounds away.  Now you have to look boobless until you lose at least 10 more.  That will take about a month, maybe two... what if it’s more?!   

Suddenly you find yourself getting bummed out… life isn’t fair.  You’ve worked so hard.  How are you going to keep your momentum going?  Buying smaller bra’s just is NOT on your ‘to do’ list.  This was not part of your carefully thought out plan.  You forgot about this hurdle.  The thing, well one of the things, that has always derailed your efforts before.  You can’t let little boobs stop you from little jeans. 

Darn, you thought you were about to start wearing smaller tops and bottoms.  This is not an option now is it?  Big floppy clothes to hide the fact that your biggest loss has been in the least desirable area of your body to lose anything.  There has to be a better way. 

You put on your thinking cap…  

The options you come up with are…  1) Wear the big floppy clothes until the spare tire deflates enough to match the boobs.  2) Bite the bullet and just wear clothes that fit, embarrassed and self conscious every minute of every day, knowing eventually this will drive you back to the donuts and ice cream that caused this all in the first place.  3) Go to the store for the ‘falsies’ to fit in your bra that you used back in your high school days… if they still existed, and if they did you know they’d only have them at a big fancy, expensive department store with one of those snooty older ladies who would look down her nose at you and have a evil grin like the Grinch when you asked for such a thing.  Or, option four…  socks. 

What a dilemma. 

You want to kick yourself for not thinking about this before.  You think about option three, but rather than the embarrassment of asking the snooty old lady all for nothing, you decide to call the department store instead… why waste a trip?  You call, you’re transferred to the ladies department and the snooty lady answers.  You ask for the necessary item in desperation… she knows exactly what you are talking about and asks you to ‘hang on’ while she checks… you hear wild laughter in the background, and then her trying to compose herself.  She’s back on the phone again and says they don’t carry those anymore and they haven’t had them for years.  The old bat!  She knew that when you asked… “Haven’t had them for years”!  You slam down the phone, look in the mirror and go rummaging through your husband’s sock drawer…    

You try several pair of socks, folding, wadding, adjusting… this isn’t working. 

You try on clothes that fit.  This is depressing.  

You look in the mirror again in the baggy clothes.  This is really depressing. 

You call your best friend and she does her best to console you.  She doesn’t have any advice either other than encouraging you to stick with it a little longer.  You sigh as you hang up the phone.  You look in the mirror again.  This time you cry.  

The heck with it.  You sit down in the recliner and eat cereal, dry, right out of the box until it’s gone because you got rid of all the other stuff in the house for your diet.  You know it won’t derail you too bad, it’s not like its ice cream or anything.  You got rid of all that anyway.  You go on about your day.  

You think you’re over it.  Your husband calls and he’s got to work late. 

You grab your car keys and go to the grocery store…