You Mind If I Eat That?!?

I'm chubby. Three kids and about 1 zillion Ho-hos after my wedding, I've packed on about 40 pounds. It doesn't help that I'm a baker by heart & soul. I love to bake...and cook. Plainly, I enjoy food. I don't eat because my daddy didn't love me enough or because I was last picked for dodge ball in gym classes growing up. We have healthy and nutritious home cooked meals in my house most every single night (with splurge items on the weekends - homemade macaroni and cheese with sauteed mushrooms & rosemary or chicken with caramelized apples in a amaretto sauce). I eat a little too much because, well...it tastes so damned good.

On my road to shed those 40 pounds (it was 50 not so long ago, thank you), I've discovered something. I know why some people are referred to as "Skinny Bitches". These poor creatures are starving. Mind you, I'm on an aggressive diet (that I keep sneaking snacks on...which surely is not helping the fact that I've maintained my weight three weeks running and only this morning bitched out my scale for a slight Oreo transgression last night) that mainly limits me to 1390 calories a day - that is until I shed another pound and it drops; but I've rediscovered some things about myself.

I'm one mean SOB when I'm hungry. Lately, that's most every five minutes. Stay the hell out of my way. Especially if I am en route to the microwave with yet another bowl of tasty and delicious low calorie soup I made & froze. It's soup people - really, I'm thinking about sinking my teeth into some wonderful burger laden with cheese and something sauteed. This is a terribly sad substitute. I think I told some poor coworker to jump off the building when he greeted me in passing. I think I might have strangled the innocent person who offered me a bag of low calorie microwave popcorn as an alternative. If I did, and you find the body - please call me so I can conceal it better the second time around.

Skinny bitches. I've wanted to go back to being one for so long that I forgot how I used to stare at food. I forgot that my normally sarcastic self became down right evil. I remember looking at people with disdain while passing through the food court in the mall thinking, "I'd maul that guy just to get one of those fries..." Which is funny, considering I rarely eat fast food. I've even contemplated tackling random babies to obtain their scrumptious, if not drool covered teething biscuit.

So, the next time you see a skinny woman cussing someone out, or note the rail thin driver who cut you off then gave YOU the finger...just realize this poor darling hasn't eaten properly in possibly years. The tiny high school girl who budged in front of you in line at the grocery store - she was just trying to score a bagel that would provide her life sustaining nutrients for the next eight hours. Cut her some slack. And carry a bag of carrots. This might potentially save your life.

I've Looked into the Eye of Sauron...

As I sat tonight thinking about what to write, I listened to the sounds of my children coming from their rooms. Normally, this is a happy sound filled with laughter and toys beeping, clanking, smashing and crashing. Tonight, that was not the case. The sounds I heard were just plainly disturbing. My seven-year-old was reading some freaking potty training book we inherited to my three-yea-old, who incidentally IS already potty trained.

Tonight, I learned that Prudence makes wee-wee and poo-poo in her potty. [Mind you, I already know the book and I’m aware that her “potty” looks more like a pottery orange juice carafe than an actual potty] I heard them discussing Prudence’s poop hole. They were generally amazed that Prudence “sat on a pitcher in her room” to take a dump. They contemplated Prudence’s bigger issues – like what would happen if her mommy didn’t empty the crap into the potty…and if Prudence would have to do it herself: GROSS!



My girls discussed the fact that Prudence walked around with no undies on. They thoroughly dissected the fact that she would need some pairs when she went to kindergarten. They wondered if she wore her pants without her undies too. Frankly, I hope I never live to find out that particular answer. Or that I don’t have to be home when my husband has to have the “you cannot go to school commando style” conversation with my son.

Enter my son into the actual mix. Now, conversation turned to Prudence’s poo-poo and the fact that it wasn’t as big as a dinosaur’s. Then the oldest screamed about how much that would stink. The youngest chimed in that Prudence couldn’t smell as bad as chicken butt. I knew at this point, I should have stopped the conversation, but plainly – I was transfixed.

Transfixed that is, until the children in question emerged from the room, and entered mine. Suddenly, Prudence and her poop-hole were shoved in my face. I was treated to many disturbing pages of Prudence’s naked hind end. I sincerely hope that the author and illustrators are proud of themselves. I’m going to have nightmares for the rest of my natural adult life. If I never see another poop-hole again, it will be too soon!