...I got chills, they're multiplyin', and I'm losin' control....
I combat the Overly Intellectual content of the previous post with something deserving the designation of Trivial And Innane. Which is what I expect you've come to expect from Ms. Primarily Decorative, unless I've been even more naked than I realize.
It's about my ass. Which is, in most estimations, fairly shapely. However.
I stepped on a scale (for the first time since a toddler broke the last one using it as a stepstool repeatedly) and discovered that twenty-five extra pounds have mysteriously attached themselves to my person.
I never noticed because I've been sitting on them.
Now, I won't whinge, whine, or ask if this dress makes me look fat (yes, gentlemen, you're right, there IS no good answer- you lose no matter what) but I was watching Leno the other night, and his guest was fabulously intelligent, a self-made woman, a big time producer, a one-woman industry. She looked wonderful.
I make no comparisons. She has a full-time trainer, a full-time nutritionist, a full-time chef...and why shouldn't she? But still.
When my ass is bigger than Oprah's, I think it's safe to say I officially Have A Problem.
(You're The One That I Want; John Travolta/Olivia Newton-John; Grease)