I've not worked out, skated, or danced with the African drummers consistently in the past two years, and does it show. There I was staring at my reflection in a dressing room mirror, shocked that my waist had expanded.
I'd always been skinny, able to shop wherever and whenever I wanted, because I knew I'd found something appropriate for my age and body type. I stopped wearing Gap Kids in grade school, but I could still wear husky sized clothes if I wanted to feel like Peter Pan wearing matching shirts and pants.
My father, may he RIP, was a beanpole until the day he died. My youngest brother is tall and skinny, the doppelgänger of our father.
Two or four additional inches around my waist isn't the end of the world, but I now know how teen girls and women feel when staring that covers of any number of glossy editorial and fashion magazines.
So, I'm standing in the mirror, feeling like a baby tugboat, holding in my tummy for I knew that I was having a nightmare and that I could still wear 28w. Everything looked out of proportion. I appeared to have had a double-chin, my face looked greasy, my ass too wide. I didn't cry. That would be silly.
It was then that I decided to shed these unwanted pounds so I can wear clothes resting in dresser drawers and starched, hanging in dry cleaners bags in the closet.
I bought and have begun taking Hydroxycut from GNC to help shrink my midsection in the next few weeks, at which point I will resume wearing my previous wardrobe.