Operation: Aloha Hawaii Body
What is life like when you’re skinny? You’re always given discounts, upgrades, and free shit. You never have to wait for a table, and people are always friendly.
These are assumptions based on my life as afatty outsider looking in. But from what I gather based on TV and movies, they’re spot-on.
B and I just booked our flight to Hawaii. Can’t. Freakin’. Wait.
We’re going the end of September through early October. The only problem? This is a tad earlier than I was planning. I was hoping to have a few extra days to perfect my swimsuit body (and by “perfect my swimsuit body” I mean locate a spray tan technician who can spray some chiseled abs over my belly).
The slight change in plan kickstarted Operation: Aloha Hawaii Body. OHAB. Sounds kind of like one of the islands over there. Throw a ‘kiki’ in there somewhere and it’s a tourist destination.
I’m going to be taking hundreds of pictures, and I want to look cute in them. My black one-piece is flattering. But Hawaii calls for something a little flashier.
I’m hoping this will be the kick-in-the-ass I need to get serious about slimming down. I’ve got a handle on exercise, but my eating habits are out of control. I was terrified to write this post, and deleted it (twice) before actually posting it, but maybe some accountability is what I need. I told B I want dirty looks and snide comments when I’m eating ice cream out of the carton and polishing off a bag of M&M’s. No matter what, I said, I want you to be stern about it and take the junk food out of my hand. But I can’t rely on a boy, who will break character when I turn to him with a trembling lip, pouting, “you think I’m fat?”
I was at the gym today, toweling off and politely trying to get into my locker, which was being blocked by a girl who was very confused by the concept of pants. I saw her looking at her waist, like she’d never seen it before, take her pants off, then put them on, only to repeat this strange ritual.
SkinnyBetch: Sorry I’m in your way. I had to check if my pants were the right size. I was like, ‘are these really a 4? They feel so loose!’
Me: stony glare
SkinnyBetch: So I checked, and they really are a 4! Guess I need to go down a size again.
Me: Fuck. Off.
These are assumptions based on my life as a
B and I just booked our flight to Hawaii. Can’t. Freakin’. Wait.
We’re going the end of September through early October. The only problem? This is a tad earlier than I was planning. I was hoping to have a few extra days to perfect my swimsuit body (and by “perfect my swimsuit body” I mean locate a spray tan technician who can spray some chiseled abs over my belly).
The slight change in plan kickstarted Operation: Aloha Hawaii Body. OHAB. Sounds kind of like one of the islands over there. Throw a ‘kiki’ in there somewhere and it’s a tourist destination.
I’m going to be taking hundreds of pictures, and I want to look cute in them. My black one-piece is flattering. But Hawaii calls for something a little flashier.
Aloha, bitches
I’m hoping this will be the kick-in-the-ass I need to get serious about slimming down. I’ve got a handle on exercise, but my eating habits are out of control. I was terrified to write this post, and deleted it (twice) before actually posting it, but maybe some accountability is what I need. I told B I want dirty looks and snide comments when I’m eating ice cream out of the carton and polishing off a bag of M&M’s. No matter what, I said, I want you to be stern about it and take the junk food out of my hand. But I can’t rely on a boy, who will break character when I turn to him with a trembling lip, pouting, “you think I’m fat?”
I was at the gym today, toweling off and politely trying to get into my locker, which was being blocked by a girl who was very confused by the concept of pants. I saw her looking at her waist, like she’d never seen it before, take her pants off, then put them on, only to repeat this strange ritual.
SkinnyBetch: Sorry I’m in your way. I had to check if my pants were the right size. I was like, ‘are these really a 4? They feel so loose!’
Me: stony glare
SkinnyBetch: So I checked, and they really are a 4! Guess I need to go down a size again.
Me: Fuck. Off.
Okay, I didn't really say that. I’m not so bitter as to deny a congratulatory “you go, girl!” If my size 4’s were too big, I’d probably rent out a bullhorn and shout it from the sidewalk. And then follow it up with some celebratory cupcakes.
Comments
@Jen: We're going to Maui. Where will you be going in February? I'm so excited = )
I wonder if being skinny means I wouldn't automatically hate everyone that's thinner than me, too? Interesting concept...