It’s no secret that I have put on a few pounds in the past year. Ok, so it was more than a few. Thirty. It was thirty pounds. Living at a hospital does that to a girl, you know? Anyway, I was able to fool myself pretty well at the hospital, having a walk-in shower and all. I finally did have to accept that I am a bigger girl when I sat down in my bathtub for the first time.
It’s a standard tub, no frills, about as average as a tub can get. My fat behind barely fits. If I try to recline, my elbows are forced into my ribcage and my once-flat tummy looks like the biggest island in that stream. I’ve tried, valiantly, to lie to myself and others by saying I have one of those small tubs like you find in single wide mobile homes. Today, for reasons I refuse to examine, I decided to measure my tub. Life is cruel. Tape measures are even more cruel.
I’ve now confirmed it truly is a standard bathtub. Which is too small to be comfortable for my non-standard booty. Nothing will dash every ounce of feeble self-denial like not fitting in your own bathtub. I would vow to only shower from this point forward until I either lose weight or get a garden tub, but I can’t shave my legs in the shower. I’m not graceful enough to pull that off, so it is much safer for me to sit in the tub. Or in my case, ON the tub. Yes, seriously.
I started watching what I eat, cut out all but maybe one diet soft drink a day, drink plenty of water, and started exercising about a month ago. I’ve lost 2 pounds. Two. TWO!
What the hell is up with that???