If You Let It All Hang Out, Don't Be Surprised If Somebody Steps On It

Some time ago I was walking through Kroger when I did spy by the light of my eye a middle aged woman who was wearing a midriff-baring shirt. I immediately averted my eyes. It was not an attractive sight. Her stomach actually spilled over the top of her pants (muffin top fashion), and was a bit on the crepey side texturally. But I didn't look away before noticing that the woman looked really happy, like she was very proud of or pleased with herself. And that baffled me. Didn't she know that she didn't look good? 

But I think that I'm beginning to understand.

I've lost a bit of weight of late, and although it's not always reflected on the scale as quickly or to the extent that I'd like, it does show up in other ways. Like my rings started to fall off of my fingers. And I started wearing jeans that I hadn't been able to fit into for years. And I have to keep tightening my belt. And that feels good. Really good. 

And on the one hand, I know that I have a looooong way to go yet. According to the Rush University Medical Center chart 1, I'm still 26 pounds away from being merely "overweight." (And I have to get to 178 pounds to be "normal," which is 48 pounds away. Yowza.) And that is discouraging as fucking fuckety fuck (to quote Negan). 

But on de otter hant . . . I feel good. I feel strong. I feel happy. Shit, I feel like baring my midriff to the world.

But I'm a dude, so I'll just bare my dangly belt instead.

And ooh, aah, keep on truckin'.


1 A bunch of skinny little motherfuckers, no doubt.