It will come as little surprise to those who know me well that I have historically been something of a social butterfly.
Admittedly, I don’t flit from party to party quite as often as I have done in years past, the social torch having been passed to my daughter shortly after she married. She has assumed the role of social epicenter with aplomb. In fact, her gossamer wings outspan mine by far these days, and I am pleased to watch her soar.
Oh, sure… I loved organizing barn dances and balls and impromptu breakfasts for forty, beach outings and camping trips, bowling matches and black tie cocktail parties. Yes. All that.
But the fact is that here in my empty nest and now that my feathers are starting to gray a bit, I have become lazy. I’m still eating and drinking like a 25-year-old planning to boogie the night away, but having exchanged my love of dancing for a comfy sofa, a bottle of wine and middle age spread, the sands in my hourglass have been shifting quite alarmingly.
The other day when HH told me I bore a startling resemblance to the Robot from Lost in Space, I started to wonder if perhaps he was not only referring to my bun. Could he perhaps have been comparing me to its buxom, aluminium fire hydrant body as well?
Danger, Will Robinson!!!
With swimsuit season looming all too close, I have decided once again that I need to shift what remains of my hourglass off the sofa and back to the gym, and to start foregoing that glass of beer for some mineral water and lime.
On paper, it all sounds great… until I rifle through my drawers and pull out my teeny tiny Spandex workout gear and contemplate the joys of vacuum packing myself into it. Because naturally, nobody burns calories unless they wear Spandex. Case in point: How many fat bicyclists do you see? They are veritable walking advertisements for DuPont with their beef jerky sinews encased in high viz. I swear you could bounce quarters off their glutes and take someone’s eye out. And they owe it all to Spandex.
For the rest us mere mortals with soft arms and squidgy glutes, however, Spandex has decided drawbacks. Sure, it’s stretchy. However, you must never forget that Spandex will always try to revert to type, no matter how well it initially stretches over your lumps and bumps. Hence, after a three minute jog or a few circuits on the cross trainer, those of us with anything that resembles a jiggle will wind up with the bottom of their shirt gradually creeping up to the bra line, and the edge of her workout pants working their way down over her hips. The ankles rise to meet the waist, and before long, one is left with little more than a tube top and spandex hot pants.
Frankly, this was never a good look for me.
It would seem I am experiencing a reverse-metamorphosis. This social butterfly has become a caterpillar…
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- feature photo: Shutterstock
- Robot: burningsettlerscabin.com
- Caterpillar: Pixgood.com