Call it Bride Wars, take two: Today, a friend S came over to my house so I could try on a gorgeous wedding dress she made. No, I have no personal announcements. (Well okay, I do have one – as those of you who read Facebook know, I’m currently eating edamame which I love but gives me terrible gas. Gym Buddies, consider yourself warned.) S’s sister, a gorgeous Vegas showgirl, is getting married and since she lives so far away, S is fitting the gown to me.
First let me just delight in the fact that I have similar proportions to a Vegas showgirl.
Actually, not quite. In addition to a heavily padded bra (girlfriend’s got a solid two inches of boobage on me), there was one other teeeeny spot the dress didn’t fit. No, it wasn’t the predictable spots like the waist, hips or shoulders – that was all kosher. It was my arms. My beefy biceps to be precise. I have 13-inch guns (that I kiss every morning thankyouverymuch) thanks to curling 20 pound ‘bells. Not that I’m bragging. Okay, I totally am.
Normally my arms are one of my favorite things about my body. They’ve got awesome definition and I love showing them off in tank tops. Well I did until I got the world’s hugest, nastiest CYST on my left shoulder. I’m like a unicorn. From Chernobyl. My point is I’m in t-shirts for the foreseeable future. But that’s another post for another day. (Seriously, it is soooo gross. I want to post pics but I haven’t found anyone that will take one for me yet….) But today, all that arm-love dropped away in a pile of white satin.
“So, um, how big did you say your sister’s arms are?” I asked S as she adjusted the skirt.
“But doesn’t she have to hang from ropes and stuff?” S’s sister was in the Masquerade Show in the Sky doing an aerial act for a year so you know she’s got to have some serious upper body strength.
“Oh yes, but she doesn’t lift weights.”
“At all?” I was incredulous. I’ve seen video of S’s sister in action (not that kind of action people – not all Vegas showgirls body double for Elizabeth Berkley) and she is graceful and elegant but also very strong.
“She won’t even lift 5-lb weights with me when I do ‘The Firm’ because she is too afraid of bulking up. Her job relies entirely on how she looks and they aren’t shy about telling her if something looks too big.”
I considered for a moment what it would be like to have my job rely entirely around my body. “How does she have any self-esteem left intact? That would kill me.” Truly, I would be so depressed if I got picked apart every time I went to “work.” Although now that I think about it, that may be the #1 perk of being an SAT grader. I could work in a clown costume for all they care. I probably shouldn’t say this but between essays I pluck my eyebrows, paint my toenails and pick dead skin off my heels while I sit in fuzzy pajamas and knee socks. As the high school kids say, that’s hawt.
“She doesn’t have much,” S sighed. “Plus she knows she can’t do it much longer. She’s trying to get into the business side of things.” Did I mention S’s sister is only 26? Imagine being nearly washed up in your twenties.
If that wasn’t enough to make you kiss your boss and hug your nearest HR person who decreed that Casual Friday means jean shirts as well as jean pants too, then check out this little nugget from the weekly rags:
Poor Nicole Richie. All I have to say is if that’s a baby bump then apparently she’s birthing a toy poodle. Can a girl not wear a bikini in public without circles and arrows being involved? Remember when she was 90% hip bones and ribs? Who wants to see that again? She’s still just the special sauce shy of becoming a McRiblet so the last thing we should be doing is encouraging her to lose weight.
Like I said, I’m so glad I’m not a celebrity. I’m totally breaking out Hans and Frans (ette) and taking them to the gun show. Well, as soon as I get rid of this cyst, that is.
What about you guys? I know Azusmom has had experience with this! Anybody ever stop loving something about themselves because of a piece of clothing? Anyone else sick of the ridiculous “bump watches”??