One of my closest friends called today. I love our Sunday conversations. They are an accumulation of a week's worth, or sometimes two weeks worth, of action and emotion. We discuss our relationships, careers, and kids mostly. I miss her terribly since I left New York.
After the usual personal updates, she politely asked, "Can we change the subject?"
"NO," I answered sarcastically.
She went on to say, "My stomach has that roll!"
There was a dramatic pause; she used to be an actress.
"I read about it," she said describing it as an 'our age' kind of inevitability. " And I am quite troubled by it," she added.
Though her son had just told her that morning how beautiful she was, there was more on her mind.
"There I am...my skinny legs, fat arms, and this roll. I'm like a donut woman."
My friend, though sweet, is not a donut woman by any stretch. She's more of a smart cookie, is very revered in her field, has a lot of fans, plus her son is absolutely right about her beauty. Caught without her Spanx, however, she feels a tad "less than" cause she has "more of."
(It is rare to post without a pic, but Miss Blogworthy notes that she promised anonymity to her donut pal, and would not post a photo of her or any middle aged part of her body. Finding a body double in the wee hours of the morning would prove too difficult.)