There’s something to be said for peer pressure.
A few days ago, my fellow Curvy Girl, Audrey, asked the internet, “What’s your weight?”
Well, I NEVER.
How DARE you!
You just don’t ask a lady her weight and expect her to answer you with less than a slap to the face and a stomp out of the room.
I hemmed and hawed and shuffled my feet and declared, “THERE’S NO WAY IN THE 7TH LEVEL OF HELL I’LL EVER TELL YOU PEOPLE WHAT I WEIGH.”
But even I wasn’t even sure what I weighed. That’s something for me to ignore and my doctor to scribble down on a chart.
It’s kind of an issue, if you can’t already tell.
It’s too high for me and my body type. It’s my fault it’s too high. It’s something that should be lower than it is currently.
It’s embarrassing to admit that I’ve failed at something, and for it to be something that everyone already knows, is even doubly shameful.
In my head.
Together with my friends and sisters, I’m brave enough
to take a poop then get on a scale and tell the world my secret.
And in how I do what I do, I reveal myself as a dancing-on-a-bar-couch-in-a-cowboy-hat-in-Vegas, fat and happy woman.
My friend, Greis, just happened to catch me tipsy and dancing on a couch in Vegas.
Because of course.
My Curvy Girls and I are Getting Real. Join us?
…now hold me, brush my hair, and feed me donuts?