This morning as Zoe looked up at me with her half closed eyes and smiling expression, I realized how lucky I am to be surrounded by people (and cats who think they are people) who love me. Take for example, this morning while I was getting ready for work. Zoe was happy to be in my presence as I stuffed my sausage legs into a pair of pants. She didn't care about the fat. In fact, she doesn't care if I am freshly showered, hair is brushed, makeup on, etc. She is just happy to be around me. She loves me.
Then there's Apollo. Now, let me preface this story by telling another short one real quick. Not too long ago, Apollo mentioned something about my butt swaying from side to side. When I shot him stink eye, he continued talking about it without even pausing. He was totally oblivious to The Dark Side in my stink eye. He then even mentioned something about its size. *sigh* Needless to say this spurned a bit of a "discussion" about how a woman does not like it when the words "sway from side to side" are used in the same sentence with "your butt." Though he learned a harsh lesson that day, he was still hurt because in his twisted little mind, these are good things. WHATEVER!
So, this morning, I got dressed, walked into the living room and said, "Geeze, does it look like I was poured into these pants or what??"
Apollo: *hesitating* Yes?
Apollo: But that's good! *staring at elephant butt with shiny eyes and stupid grin* (I am not exaggerating about the shiny eyes and stupid grin!)
Me: No, no it's not!
Apollo: Oh, then...no? *still staring gleefully at elephant butt*
Me: Stop it! *swaying out of room butt first*
Apollo: *trying to win back points* I dried them on hot in the dryer, they must have shrunk!
I guess it's safe to say that the people who really love me accept me for who I am. I, on the other hand, am much harder on myself. I still remember that dreaded day in the K-Mart dressing room, picking out clothes for layaway. I was around 8 years old and my Mom informed me I was going to grow up with hips like hers; that remark stung like lemon juice in my eye. It was like I didn't have a choice. I was doomed - GAH!
These days I am totally guilt ridden by my mass. Well, disgusted too. This morning to compensate for the too tight pants, I found a t-shirt big enough to cover my swaying, sausage, elephant butt. The shirt says *"tortfeasor." How appropriate!
*If you don't know the definition of tortfeasor, please, look it up now by clicking the above link.