TIME TO GET THE PARTY GOING

And by 'party' I mean 'tanning lotion'.


Confession: dear readers, I am pale. I never really cared, I figured it was only normal, since I rarely spent time out during daylight. Family members teased me about being white, and not-so-subtly suggesting I get a tan.


I get it, being pale in Florida is supposed to be for the tourists. Living within walking distance of the beach should be taken advantage of. I finally changed my mind, not because of a desire to enhance my coloring, or keep natives from being condescending jerks when I go to popular spots, but because of a greater vanity.


I have stretch marks. Fresh ones.


I've always carried my weight in my hips. However, most of my life, I was underweight. Putting any weight on my frame was a struggle. As a youngster, I was heavily involved in soccer and track. I didn't start to gain weight until puberty hit and I ruined my knees during the late soccer season. A few years of maintaining a decent, if low, weight changed when I developed anorexia and exercise bulimia between 18 and 20.


It was a long struggle to overcome those disorders and slowly get back to the 120 I had been. Then, last year, my dad had a massive traumatic event which almost severed his right hand and ripped out the upper arterial arch in his palm. In the hospital, he would only eat if I did. Between the stress, fear, and multiple meals I brought him, we both filled out.


One year later, and I've finally reached the average healthy weight for my height. However, the thirty pounds, rather than distributing themselves evenly, went strait to my belly, thighs and butt. While I always had junk in my trunk, the added twenty pounds did their damage.


A tan would make them less noticeable, and that is my stupid motivation. I hate myself for being that shallow, but I'm also annoyed that I can't wear my shorts without the stretches peaking out from the hem. Lemme tell you, I love my body, I love the extra oomph in my strut, I love the curve and belly pooch and lush femaleness of my body. The only thing I can't stand are these damn red lines.


Bleh.



(And that's the end of my whining. I know that as a woman, stretch marks, bad hair days, fluctuating water weight, yo-yo dieting, and period drama are our lot, but, damn it, I don't have to like it.)