The Before Picture

Being a middle-aged woman sucks. I am inundated with beautiful people on television and magazines who mock my fat thighs and poochy belly. Every ad seems to be for an expensive face cream guaranteed to make wrinkles disappear or a medieval torture device that claims to give me a "ripped" body in six weeks. (What they don't tell you is you actually have to use the machine to get results - hanging clothes on it doesn't count.) My Facebook friends happily post they're off to yoga, or off to spinning, or off to play tennis. Personally, I think they're off their rocker. I have friends who are getting "weight loss" shots from doctors, going to boot camp at the ungodly hour of 5 a.m., or twisting themselves into Pilates pretzels twice a day. They've given up alcohol, chocolate, and coffee. What is WRONG with these people?! Are they truly happy wasting hours a day sweating from physical exertion just to have a firmer butt? Do they really enjoy eating salad for dinner, dressing on the side? Is it worth it to drop a few hundred bucks at the cosmetic counter for a miracle eye cream, or better yet, bimonthly Botox injections?

I will confess I am not exactly thrilled with my flabby upper arms or frighteningly large behind. I am careful to draw attention away from my back fat and chubby knees when I dress. However, I greatly enjoy sipping wine and eating gourmet meals over witty conversation with good friends; I live for my coffee in the morning and often eat cookies for breakfast; I feel beautiful and sexy lounging in the bathtub, reading a book and nibbling decadent dark chocolate. I think the tiny lines around my eyes give me character. I miss the body I had in my twenties, but I don't miss the life I had. I choose to be very happy with my imperfect body and be secure in the knowledge that the people who love me do so because they are smitten with my heart and my mind, not with the way I look. To me, an "After Picture" is not a picture of a skinny person, but of a happy person.

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