Someone Needs to Learn How to Lie

My older sister was always the skinny one in my family, the one who would scold me for eating one too many Little Debbie’s. Now an almost 40 mother of two, she’s not got the figure you used to have but she is by no means fat. Today she was complaining about having a pot belly, which she never had and which is obviously a product of bearing two healthy children.

So to make her feel better, I acknowledged my own pot belly, which I wish I could blame on motherhood but instead have to chalk up to poor genetics (and the occasional french fry/pastry/fill-in-the-bad-for-you-food binge). She looked at me like a crazy woman and said my stomach looked like “that” – and she gestured to my fabulously fit 17 year old niece who was sporting a sexy zebra print string bikini. Obviously I have a gift for hiding my defects, so I looked to my husband to confirm my fat. I asked, “Don’t I have a pot belly?” And he confirmed, “It’s true, she’s got a belly.” At this point both my niece and sister broke out into a shocked laughter, one that wondered what kind of stupid husband would say such a thing. And in my mind I thought “mine.”