the Dean’s Award.
“It’s so hot today,” Mum went on. “I hope she’s wearing a good deodorant, especially under that heavy gown. Do you think she’s got a good deodorant on?”
“Let’s pray that she does.”
“Can you imagine how many of our tax dollars it took to pay for all this marble?” She pointed to the foyer floor. “Aren’t you glad you’re not the one who has to polish it?”
“Mmm.”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing, just premenstrual grumpiness. I feel like a blob today.”
“Well, you’re quite an attractive blob.”
“Um. Thanks.”
“See, don’t you just love me? This is why you bring me places.”
Then five minutes of blissful silence.
“So what’s new?”
“Nothing!”
“Well, there has to be something!”
“There isn’t!”
“Well. All right. Hey, I see you are wearing a skirt today.”
“Excellent observation.”
“It’s nice to see you wearing a skirt.”
“It’s nice to be wearing one!”
Today is the first time I’ve displayed my calves since my high school uniform. For six years I’ve hidden my pale, trunklike pins in long trousers, even in the height of summer. But on a surprisingly successful shopping trip last week, Rhiannon persuaded me to try on a skirt, just below the knee, in a loud purple. I grumbled and bitched, saying my ankles were “too thick” for such a thing, but she made me try it on. It looked great. And it was a size 18!
It’s been five years since I could get into a size 18. I’ve lost five years of fat! And my legs don’t look too bad either. They’re still chunky, but they’re starting to develop a hint of shape, thanks to all those squats and lunges. I almost cried in the changing rooms. Me in a skirt!
So here I was at the graduation, feeling feminine and trendy for the first time in years, if slightly self-conscious about wearing something other than a shapeless sack. Could people see my cellulite? Were they counting the flab rolls on my back?
“The important question is,” said Mum, interrupting my thoughts, “are you wearing a petticoat?”
“What?”
She brought out her purse-lipped, overenunciated schoolteacher voice: “Are … you … wearing … a … petticoat?”
“Do you take me for some sort of a crusty old spinster?”
“You should wear a petticoat if you’re going to wear a skirt,” she sniffed. “You may as well be naked without one.”
Mercifully, the ceremony began, and when Rhiannon received her award, we were misty-eyed with pride. While she handed back her robes and cap, I sneaked off to Weight Watchers for a quick weigh-in before we all went out for dinner.
“Look at you!” cried Donna as I sashayed to the scale.
“Ahh!” I waved off her compliment.
“Will you stay for the meeting and talk to everyone about your achievements?”
“Why? I’m nowhere near my goal!”
“How many times must I tell you, it’s all about the journey! You’re an inspiration.”
I squirmed. “I have to run. I’m meeting my mum and Rhiannon for dinner.”
“Two minutes, please?”
After all she’d done for me this year, holding my hand and wiping away my snotty tears, how could I possibly say no?
“Ladies, I want to introduce you to Shauna. She’s been with us since January and she is amazing.”
My face burned. Amazing?
“How much have you lost now, Shauna?”
“Ninety-eight pounds!”
There were gasps and stares. Some ladies frowned at me critically, perhaps trying to picture me with those extra pounds.
“I just want you all to see what you can achieve with hard work and determination. What do you say, Shauna?”
“Oh yes!” I was such a fraud. “Hard work. Determination. Just keep counting those points!”
I gave Donna a hug and rushed out the door. How long had it been since I stayed for a meeting? How long had it been since I’d filled in a points tracker or eaten a Weight Watchers chocolate mousse? I can’t help feeling I’m outgrowing Weight Watchers. I
“It’s so hot today,” Mum went on. “I hope she’s wearing a good deodorant, especially under that heavy gown. Do you think she’s got a good deodorant on?”
“Let’s pray that she does.”
“Can you imagine how many of our tax dollars it took to pay for all this marble?” She pointed to the foyer floor. “Aren’t you glad you’re not the one who has to polish it?”
“Mmm.”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing, just premenstrual grumpiness. I feel like a blob today.”
“Well, you’re quite an attractive blob.”
“Um. Thanks.”
“See, don’t you just love me? This is why you bring me places.”
Then five minutes of blissful silence.
“So what’s new?”
“Nothing!”
“Well, there has to be something!”
“There isn’t!”
“Well. All right. Hey, I see you are wearing a skirt today.”
“Excellent observation.”
“It’s nice to see you wearing a skirt.”
“It’s nice to be wearing one!”
Today is the first time I’ve displayed my calves since my high school uniform. For six years I’ve hidden my pale, trunklike pins in long trousers, even in the height of summer. But on a surprisingly successful shopping trip last week, Rhiannon persuaded me to try on a skirt, just below the knee, in a loud purple. I grumbled and bitched, saying my ankles were “too thick” for such a thing, but she made me try it on. It looked great. And it was a size 18!
It’s been five years since I could get into a size 18. I’ve lost five years of fat! And my legs don’t look too bad either. They’re still chunky, but they’re starting to develop a hint of shape, thanks to all those squats and lunges. I almost cried in the changing rooms. Me in a skirt!
So here I was at the graduation, feeling feminine and trendy for the first time in years, if slightly self-conscious about wearing something other than a shapeless sack. Could people see my cellulite? Were they counting the flab rolls on my back?
“The important question is,” said Mum, interrupting my thoughts, “are you wearing a petticoat?”
“What?”
She brought out her purse-lipped, overenunciated schoolteacher voice: “Are … you … wearing … a … petticoat?”
“Do you take me for some sort of a crusty old spinster?”
“You should wear a petticoat if you’re going to wear a skirt,” she sniffed. “You may as well be naked without one.”
Mercifully, the ceremony began, and when Rhiannon received her award, we were misty-eyed with pride. While she handed back her robes and cap, I sneaked off to Weight Watchers for a quick weigh-in before we all went out for dinner.
“Look at you!” cried Donna as I sashayed to the scale.
“Ahh!” I waved off her compliment.
“Will you stay for the meeting and talk to everyone about your achievements?”
“Why? I’m nowhere near my goal!”
“How many times must I tell you, it’s all about the journey! You’re an inspiration.”
I squirmed. “I have to run. I’m meeting my mum and Rhiannon for dinner.”
“Two minutes, please?”
After all she’d done for me this year, holding my hand and wiping away my snotty tears, how could I possibly say no?
“Ladies, I want to introduce you to Shauna. She’s been with us since January and she is amazing.”
My face burned. Amazing?
“How much have you lost now, Shauna?”
“Ninety-eight pounds!”
There were gasps and stares. Some ladies frowned at me critically, perhaps trying to picture me with those extra pounds.
“I just want you all to see what you can achieve with hard work and determination. What do you say, Shauna?”
“Oh yes!” I was such a fraud. “Hard work. Determination. Just keep counting those points!”
I gave Donna a hug and rushed out the door. How long had it been since I stayed for a meeting? How long had it been since I’d filled in a points tracker or eaten a Weight Watchers chocolate mousse? I can’t help feeling I’m outgrowing Weight Watchers. I
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