Last night an NBC promo for the Miss USA competition posed a probing question about the contestants: when will they get to eat? These girls feel compelled to starve themselves into bodies the size of a twelve-year-old boy, an extremely top-heavy twelve-year old boy, so I feel for them. I haven’t had the body of a twelve-year-old boy since I was a twelve-year-old girl.
When did prepubescent become the new sexy? I always thought that Marllyn Monroe was the pinnacle of sexy, the perfect size, but nowadays she’s more like the size of the “before” model in the Weight Watchers ads.
These poor impossibly gorgeous beauty contestants are probably “hangry,” a favorite term used by Anna Paquin of “True Blood” fame when she has to do a crash diet and body-hurting workout before her semi-nude scenes on HBO. “Hangry” is a combination of “hungry” and “angry,” and somehow this is appropriate for these girls. They’re hungry and they’re mad as hell about it, but they just have to power through. I’m glad it’s them and not me.
For me food is one of life’s great joys, but lately I’ve been a little stressed about it. Of course, I recently learned that “stressed” spelled backwards is “desserts.” Honestly, that doesn’t help me. I should not be feeling a sense of accomplishment that I was able to close my bathrobe this morning. I’m really bummed because my fat pants are now my skinny jeans. When I was pregnant I was the size of Graceland, and I just feel that my body will never get over that.
I told my husband, who works in health care, my weight today, and he told me I’m “WNL.” “Woman needing liposuction?” I asked with trepidation. Luckily no. I’m “within normal limits”! I may be within the limit, but I’m pushing it as far as it can go. Since we agreed to lose weight two weeks ago, my husband has lost twenty pounds. I’ve gained four. It’s not fair!
My scale came with a pre-printed weight on the box. I’ve thought of cutting out this number and pasting it over the digital scale’s actual window. I can’t think of a faster way to get to my “ideal” weight.
Oh well. At least I’m not hangry.