This morning, I viewed some pretty amazing pictures taken by my lovely, hot, talented, and delish sister-in-law, Areli. She, like most folks in this century, knows how to use photo shop. (I am not one of the most) I click onto my pirated version and draw a few scribbled lines, erase my eyes in attempt to remove red-eye; I then give up and post my pics as is, in their sad, unedited state.
I loved her pictures of the kids, especially the ones that I am including for your viewing pleasure, but I wondered if she might kindly edit the ones of me, so that I didn’t look 7 months pregnant. That morning, I had unfortunately chosen a billowy top that I thought was tres chic until I saw myself. I think “not flattering” would sum it up nicely.
Feeling decidedly frumpy, I went down to CVS to get a bottle of water and peruse the choices of canned delights for lunch. As I checked out, my “special friend” (refer to Mrs. Robinson blog) asked me, “Do you go to the gym?” I thought that I hadn’t heard him correctly so I said, “Excuse me?” He said, “Do you go to the gym?”
I laughed awkwardly and said, “Well, whenever I make myself get up. But I do try.” He said, “Well it shows, whatever you are doing is just enough. Keep it up, you look great.”
Oh yes, please massage my ego, you lovely, young checker at CVS, you. Tell me more about me and my tough, gym body. I want to believe you....I really do. As I floated out the door on my cougar high, the billowy top pictures were just a bad, bad memory. Laters.
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