Category — Relationships

“There’s a part of me that dreams of being physically fit.” I said this to my husband yesterday and he laughed in my face. I guess some dreams never do come true.

I try to be perfect, but sometimes I fall short. In those moments, I can be petty, jealous and superficial. Yesterday I had one of those moments. My husband and I were strolling through the mall when I spotted his ex just ahead of us. This is a bitch who has haunted my dreams for years. Granted, it’s what she represents that haunts me, but I still despise her. So you can imagine my extreme satisfaction when I looked down and confirmed my physical superiority. Below is a rough rendering of her lower half. The upper half and head have been left out to protect the identity of the not-so-innocent and the ugly. Also, I don’t do portraits.

Note: If you’re a man and you find this ass attractive, then you obviously lack the taste and sophistication necessary to appreciate the finer things in life – like anorexic asses.

I was naive to think that certain duties were implied in my marriage vows and I’m pretty sure it’s too late to revise them. My husband should not only be required to love me for richer or poorer, through sickness and in health – he should also be required to massage my back when I fucking ask him to. Take last night, for instance. We crawled into bed and I lovingly requested that he give my shoulders a little rub. I wasn’t asking him to pull out a massage table and an Enya CD, but that’s what you’d have thought given the quickness with which he denied my request.

Too bad I wasn’t letting the bastard off that easy. I was desperate so I tried to guilt him. I told him that my new office set up is not very ergonomic, and it’s liable to cause severe scoliosis if he doesn’t help to counter the negative effects. But he’s an unsympathetic husband. His solution: exercise. He informed me that I need to tone up – not because I’m “flabby,” but because I’m “soft.” Um, SAME FUCKING THING. He should know better to say such things to me by now. A smart man should obey his wife, and I’m sure the court will agree when I state that as my grounds for divorce.

From any perspective save my own, I’m skinny. That’s only because I’m extremely adept at hiding my belly. But when you’re in a relationship, there’s always a moment of truth. You’re gonna get naked at some point, right? So I made the mistake of asking my husband when he first noticed I was hiding something. Now this is a bastard who can’t remember what I said to him five minutes ago, but of course, he remembers the precise moment he spotted my fat.  Apparently we were at a coffee shop, I was wearing a gray and black striped shirt, and he noticed something “hanging over my jeans.” ISN’T THAT SPECIAL? If only he could remember the date, we’d have another anniversary to celebrate.

Some people welcome the weekend with alcohol. But my husband and I, we celebrate by eating like obese rock stars. We can put back some serious food and usually it gets ugly. Everything has to be equal and if it looks like either of us might end up with an extra bite, we start shoveling faster. There have been moments when I thought we would come to blows over a bite of food. Fortunately, this Friday night food rivalry of ours has not yet caused us to divorce.

But I have often wondered what onlookers must think when they see two skinnies like us woofing down food as though we’re in some kind of eating contest. The embarrassment doesn’t tend to set in until after the plates are clean, and then we wonder if someone is going to have the nerve to make a comment. Yesterday someone had the nerve. It was our waitress and when she came over to clean up our mess, she looked at my husband and exclaimed in disbelief, “YOU ATE THAT ENTIRE PLATE OF NACHOS?!” It was an appetizer of veggie nachos that could probably feed a family of 8, and I could see the red rising in his cheeks so I interjected with, “Impressive, huh?” She was impressed, and likely envious too, because her next comment was, “Where do you pack it all in? You must have starved yourself for 3 days!” Too bad he’s not the one who starves. That’s the lot that falls to me. Mother fuckers. I’m the one who deserves the praise!

Last night, Extra Large Man said the three little words every woman with an eating disorder longs to hear:

Breakfast for dinner

Yes folks! I’m having swedish pancakes, veggie sausage patties and mimosas for dinner tonight. I plan on starving all day and going to the gym after work to prepare for this special occasion.

My 5 year old nephew walked up behind me, wrapped his arm around my legs and said: “You’ve lost weight.” This was one of those completely random and unprompted comments kids are so often wont to make. And as much as I’d like to think he was being honest, I know that I’ve actually gained weight recently so I have to wonder if he wasn’t just preparing for his future role as a husband. Either way, he’s going to make some woman very happy one day. My husband should take notes.

Our society is obsessed with sleek, taut, well-toned abdomens — a fact of which I’m already well aware but was reminded of this evening by my husband when he spotted a poster featuring a faceless couple, each sporting ripped six-packs. Of course, this is the main reason I hate the world. Not because it’s unjust and fraught with suffering. But because I just don’t live up to the impossible abdominal standard, and I never will. 

So my husband told me to thank my mom for my shitty genetics and then, being the flatterer he is, pointed out that at least my belly is “contoured.” WTF. Was I supposed to take that as a compliment? I didn’t even know what he meant, so I asked for clarification. That’s when he said in his sweetest voice that some people have tires hanging from their waists, but my belly doesn’t hang. It’s just a little contoured paunch. How nice. I guess that makes me one lucky bitch.