“I’ll just be hanging around the mistletoe, hoping to be kissed.” – Love Actually
This year, I shan’t allow a man to touch me.
I shan’t celebrate with my family.
I shan’t attend a gorgeous party with friends, wearing this dress by Steffen Schraut:
And these shoes by Sergio Rossi:
Oh how I am rendered to absolute anger that I cannot be pretty for Christmas this year.
Retiring to my slumber, just a few hours ago, I scribbled these notes, onto my iPhone, from the confines of my dark, posh bedroom:
I lay in bed with 9 vanilla halves of black & white ice-filled cookies from Whole Foods (may contain traces of eggs and dairy), 1 container of vegan general tso’s chicken, 2 candy walnut ginger salads, and 1/2 of an apple resting in my stomach. Gwendolyn, snoring at my side, is why I’m not vomiting. Is why I’m not crying. My stomach is fat and my tits are huge. I have no time for this comfort food as I must be awake in three hours.
My dresses do not fit properly.
I am a fat cow.
I want to think about sex. They say pregnant women become aroused easily. Maybe it’s just fat women.
I’ve gotten fat. Fat as fuck. 125 pounds.
And all I want is to walk in front of Yoga Man again. Confidently. Showing him that I’ve earned back my yoga body. I must do it. I shall do it. I shall earn back my yoga body by taking extreme measures.
I am not capable of balance. I am capable of extremes. Why do I fool myself each time with food, trying to be ‘mindful’? Mindfulness does not a thin girl make.
Don’t offer me your hugs.
Don’t offer me your nutritional counsel.
Don’t offer me your warnings on metabolism manipulation.
I just want straight forward, objectivist answers.
If you are a successful, type-A woman, living in this fast-paced world, how do you accomplish your body?
Thank you, and Merry Christmas.
© Nicole Marie Story Enterprises, LLC and nicoleandgwendolyn.com, 2011, 2012.