So I admit to being one of those gals who has not had to watch my weight for most of my life with the exception of right after I delivered my Precious and right eff-ing now. That being the case, babes do not want to hear me complain about gaining ten pounds in six weeks.
And I hate that.
We are the only ones who care about our own zits, our gray roots, and our weight. That said, I have just as much frustration with my bod as other babes. Maybe not just as much, (cuz I don’t really know how much frustration other people have cuz I’m not in their heads) but it does bother and so I’m to be allowed to complain and discuss under the rules of, ‘I am a woman, too’.
So my cleaning lady comes in today. And I’m pouring her a cup of coffee when I kind of side glance at her and accuse her of this,
“Nancy, Have you lost weight?!!”
Incredulous.
Indeed she has. Twenty pounds. No, she knows not how.
She is confused and yet seems all innocent-like as she gazes at the roll sticking out in my now too tight workout wear (which was donned this morn with all intentions of running but when the tears started streaming down as I told my mom my baby was growing up, I rewarded myself with not running. Cuz I deserved that). WAS she all innocent?? She better not be checkin out the flab roll.
So she says, “I been working a lot maybe??” [read with that accent that says, 'English not my first lingo']
So I says, “So maybe I should be cleaning my own house??” Is that what you are suggesting my Nancy?? Perhaps if I laundered my own clothes I could lose weight too??
“No, no!” she says. Suddenly serious. ”No! I do it for you.” Who’s smiling (okay, smirking) now, huh?? Just watch it next time.
