This morning I ate a lemon cranberry scone from Starbucks.
Now, I have undoubtedly admitted way worse things on the Internet before, but even typing those words out makes me feel morbidly ashamed.
You see, in a grandiose attempt to become Victoria’s Secret ready for the interior’s blazing inferno summer season, I made the call last week to give up carbs. And if that first sentence is any indication, I have already failed miserably.
I don’t even like Starbucks lemon cranberry scones — they hurt my sweet tooth and make me drool in effect — but I guess I was all “meh, what’s another day of jiggle.”
There is a slight chance — and I’m not sure I’m ready to even say this out loud yet — there is a slight chance that I kind of, sort of, maybe don’t really mind my muffin top anymore.
Of course I wouldn’t say that to you if I was standing in between my boyfriend and Gisele Bundchen, but right now, while it’s still cool enough to wear pea coats and my boyfriend isn’t Tom Brady (shoot), I’m enjoying the fact I can eat a doughnut or four every time my stress levels peak above average and not feel bad about it.
You just don’t enjoy doughnuts the same way if you’re skinny. Something about them having the average woman’s daily intake of fat in one bite or whatever. Plus, it seems to me Marilyn Monroe never passed on the champagne and cupcakes and she still bagged JFK in his prime.
I know there’s still some time to go before the panic really sets in, but the moment is coming.
All of the sudden you’ll realize it’s boating weather and the only bathing suit that fits you is the stretched out six dollar one you had to buy at Walgreens that summer your family flew to California and your luggage missed the plane.
Then you’ll refuse to be featured on anyone’s Instagram and you’ll be that awkward blob in the back who looks like she wasn’t really invited on the boat and just showed up for the cooler full of Palm Bays.
Yeah, you could say I’ve been there.
The thing is, I’m kind of over it — the whole “oh, it’s summer, let’s starve!” trend. I’d like to start some sort of movement that encourages women to bulk up for summer like men do.
Winter is hard on our bodies— our skin dries up like drops of water on a curling iron, our vitamin D plummets, our hair breaks, our lips chap, our moods swing like chimps from a jungle gym (sorry, I’m having an off analogy day) and we have to work extra hard to motivate ourselves.
What is it about coming out of that freezing cold black hole that makes women of all ages shout, “Ready? Set! PALEO/SOUTH BEACH/GLUTEN FREE/NO SUGAR/ MASTER CLEANSE!”
I’ll tell you what I want to shout coming out of this long-ass winter.
HELLO, BEN AND JERRY!
Which is precisely why I’ve come up with a defense strategy.
In case of emergency, this muffin top can be used to thwart off ridiculous suggestions to go hiking in 40 degree weather, as an extra pillow when your significant other forgets his on your annual camping trip, and — in the case that any one sends a judgmental look your way while out on the lake — as a floatation devise.
Who’ll be laughing then, huh?
— Andria is a twenty-something blogger living in Kamloops with her 100 pairs of heels and 200 paperback Penguin Classics.