Big Butts In a Can Of Limes

315. That is a big number. It’s also the biggest that has appeared on my scale at this point in my life. One would think this number be would be my motivation to lose the big butt that I sing about every week. But it is not. I really don’t have any right now. The more you weigh, the harder you are to kidnap.

I really don’t like my pants. I do wish I didn’t have to re-stretch my t-shirts after I washed them every time. I still make the same wish to my fairy every night, who seems to have been lost for the past twenty years, the same wish when my head is on my pillow at night: I wish that when I am awake in the morning, the weight on my scale will be what I ask her for, a healthy one, and every person in my life will think that is how my body has always been. Or, I should just ask my fairy to finally motivate me to get off of my fat ass and to actually try to do what I have been wanting my lazy self to do for these past six months; lose 100 pounds. I have a free gym attached to my apartment, after all. I also ask her that it would be so simple for me to lose five pounds in one day, even if I just sneeze. Or maybe, even easy for my body to just lose 20 pounds. For, once I lose 20 pounds, I will be inspired to continue on to 5 more and then 10 more and then 20 more until I have reached my goal.

However, you all need to leave me alone about it. I do not want to do any of this when I feel like this topic is brought up and shoved into my face constantly. I don’t always run from my problems. I just continue to sit in my chair, play on my computer and ignore them. Like an adult. I need to motivate myself. I need to force myself to do this. I need to want to do this. I have so many reasons why I already want to, though. I want to be able to climb up a flight of stairs without being out of breath. I want to walk into any store ready to pick from all of the clothes that are upon the shelves. I want to be able to sleep in my boyfriend’s favorite t-shirt.  I just want it to be so simple. But nothing in life is easy. I can’t make everybody happy. It’s not like I’m a taco. And I don’t even like taco’s that much. I really prefer chicken nuggets, which I eat too much of.

I wasn’t picked on when I was younger. I consider myself lucky. I know that when growing up at a certain age, any girl is subject to bullying. I never really had trouble walking up to other children and just joining in on the fun. I joined my school’s theater club to help me continue down my happy path while in high school. I had no problem getting up on stage and preform whatever role I was given at the top of my lungs. I did feel like I was supposed to have a boyfriend, though, and I felt the only reason no guy responded to my smiles was because I wasn’t the same shape as every girl in the school, the sticks that walked upon the halls. I still did not let myself sink into that hole I knew was trying to drag me down.

In my world, I felt awesome.  I was able to be up on that stage. I was able to make so many friends being involved in this that I have lost count. These were real friends, too. These are people I am still in touch with fifteen years later. They did not judge me by my round butt, or wide hips. They did not care that fat hung off my arms or that I had to buy my clothes in the adult woman’s section. They liked me for me.

Even as my life continues, since 33 is such an old age, I am still able to do this. I have my days where I critic the way I look more than I’m sure any other person around me does. I think I’m more judgmental about my appearance than I was in my younger years. When I am getting ready to shower, I will stand and pick and pull at every piece of my body in the mirror. I will stand and mentally tell myself that I need to change what is in front of me. I need to get rid of this piece and that piece. Even though there is a person in another room that I am able to sexually induce in some way, I still feel that I need to wake up the next day and the body that I have been wishing for, for the past fifteen years will be there when I throw the covers off myself the next day. Yet, instead of carrots or apples, I reach over for cheese bread and diet cola as I conclude my writing. So, my fat ass will always remain upon my body until my psychic will finally be correct about one thing in my life: you will walk be a healthier you.

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