Most people who know me know that I hate weddings. Not so much the weddings of other people, more so weddings of my own. I have wedding phobia in regards to myself. The whole idea of having a wedding makes me have a panic attack. I could delve into the psychology behind this right now, but that's not what I want to talk about right now.
My cousin is getting married in September, and she's asked me to be one of her five bridesmaids. After I got over the initial shock and happiness, and also the feeling of knowing that somebody else loves you as much as you love them, *panic* set in. Not the same panic that I have over myself getting married, such as standing in front of a huge crowd and talking about mushy-lovey-dovey junk, or fear of falling flat on my face with my dress over my ears... No, not that.
I was in a panic because I realised that I am going to be the "fat bridesmaid". I have never been the "fat friend". And yes, while I *know* that I'm not "fat", the feeling of standing up in front of two hundred and fifty people, wearing the exact same dress as four other girls who are all less than size four is freaking me the eff out. I didn't think this would bother me so much. I wasn't anticipating that something as simple as body image would create such a "me issue".
My breasts are not where they used to be. I have hips. I have an ass. That huge tattoo that I got on my navel when I was younger is looking a little wonky now after the repeated pregnancies and their ensuing stretch marks. Yet I've always still held firm to the belief that I'm HOT, dammit!
I've had three kids. I eat everything I want and I walk around all day following my id. I don't deprive myself of sweets, I don't take care of myself like I should, and I'm pushing thirty. Yet I like to think that I still look good. Forgive me if I'm related to you and click away NOW, but my man still wants to hit this every chance he gets. And by that I mean that we totally get it on. *snicker*
I wear red lipstick and heels to pick up my kids from school. I strut at the grocery store. I toss my hair over my shoulder with exaggerated flair. I generally have a sense of confidence about myself. In fact, usually it's the ego I have to keep in check. (It runs in the family... we're a good looking bunch, and we know it.) I should mention, though of course we know this, that body is not everything. I'm a good person. I'm smart, and I can cook and bake most people under the table. (That bitch Martha ain't got shit on me, yo.)
So why am I so worried about the being the largest bridesmaid?
Simple. For the same reason that even with as much as Oprah Winfrey (and it must be said that I am not an Oprah-ite) has accomplished in her life, she is still, after thirty years, stressing about her weight. Women do this to themselves. Whether it's the media or society or for whatever reason, we do these things to ourselves and also each other.
But really, do I want to look back at myself in twenty years and say that I was not even trying? That I gained anywhere from ten to fifteen pounds every winter because I rarely left the house? That I was not doing my best to take care of myself and my body? It's a temple, dammit! I should treat it like one more often.
So I'm not going to concentrate on size when I'm stressing out. I'm going to concentrate on flabbiness. This is my natural weight and size. The way I am with absolutely no maintenance. What I'm going to work on is being strong. Not thin. And more fit, not emaciated. I'm not going to starve, I'm just going to do a little bit of shaping up.
I'm going to be standing up there with those other bridesmaids at the wedding and I'm going to walk with a swagger. I'm going to have a spring in my step. I'm the oldest, I'm the biggest, and I'm the sexiest.
If that doesn't work I'll knock them all out with hot shoes.