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Wednesday, May 22, 2013

What Looks Like Crazy on An Ordinary Day

Turning forty-one has been fabulous and amusing! I have finally learned to relax and not worry so much about some of the trivial things. Unfortunately, I have had to accept that my metabolism is not as it used to be. I'm not the lean, young girl who could eat everything when I wanted and not have it camp around my mid-section. I remember constantly trying to GAIN weight, as a junior high student. Quite different now. Years ago I could just grab my size when shopping and not worry about trying it on in the store. Now I take several sizes in the fitting room. This is usually how I gauge my weight. Usually I leave out with my hair sticking up, sweating and leaving every item there.

Recently, I was running late for work. I quietly but quickly grabbed my red shirt and pants from our closet. I didn't want to wake my husband so I used a dim light to see and took my clothes into our bathroom. I put on my pants, but the shirt was a little challenging. I could hear some threads popping as I forced it over my head and arms.

The shirt fought me as I attempted to pull it over my torso. The shirt yelled, "I DON'T FIT YOU!" I'm a fighter, so I was determined to get the shirt on. Until... I began sweating and felt a little dizzy. This was ridiculous! It felt like I had a blood pressure cuff on my body!

Glancing at the clock, I realized I had minutes to get out and head for work. But how was I gonna get out of the shirt? I could barely breathe or move. How in the world did this happen? Sure I'd gained some weight and it fit a little snug but gracious, I could get it on before.

I could feel tears coming. I sucked it up and took a deep breath and tried to pull it up and over my head.

Comedy! After about five minutes of circling around with my arms stuck and eyes covered, I finally got the thing off. Couldn't believe I didn't wake anyone. So I cleaned up, cooled down, stomped on the evil shirt and quickly threw on another one.

On the way out to the garage I slammed the ripped shirt into the trash! Not to be outdone, I immaturely gave it half a peace sign.

Driving to work, I reflected on the whole ordeal and tried to accept that I had simply blown up. It's life. I collected myself and walked into work...feeling bruised mentally and definitely physically.

Later, when I got home, my eleven-year-old daughter asked me what happened to her red shirt and why was it in the trash.

Yep! I'm crazy.

3 comments:

rowejones said...

Haa! Jr told me to look at this because it was funny and yes, this was hilarious! I could totally see you doing the peace sign.

Don said...

I'm not sure if you meant this post to be humorous, but it made me laugh. I'm sure this transpires with the majority of us, at some point in our respective lives.

melissa said...

Hello! I did. It wasn't funny at the time of course. Thanks for reading and posting a comment.