Anorexic, I ain't.
In fact, I should bend on dimpled knee and beg Bob Harper to whip my atomic ass into a shape other than round.
But I don't really feel like doing that right now because I'm cool with who I am. After all, my personality is pretty banging, and I've been seeing a therapist for a year now to help me cope with the fact that my mom called me on my birthday and offered to pay to send me to The Biggest Loser Resort as a gift. With Prozac's help, I've learned to find the story more funny than super fucking offensive. Hell, I've even come to embrace the whole process of gaining 130+ pounds from a thyroid tumor, even if it does mean I have an unfuckably fat vagina.
That being said, I wasn't always so chill about my weight, and ironically, that was when I wasn't clinically obese. If my memory of the scale serves correct, I was about 160 pounds when I spanked a stranger in my endeavors to appear emaciated.
You see, starvation has a way of seducing women who know they will soon be walking down an aisle and who don't want to be too winded at its end to say "I do" to any question other than, "Do you need a drink of water?"
Six-ish years ago, my now husband, Chris, asked me if I would grow old with him. I said yes. In hindsight, I should've flatly refused, considering that he chose to propose to me AFTER AN EPISODE OF BATTLESTAR GALACTICA! (You know the one where you find out Sharon is a Cylon, and it's all cray-cray in outer space, because she's trying to assassinate the Admiral... You know what? I bet you don't give a fuck. Just like I didn't.)
ANYWAY, I did say yes, and that meant I thought I needed to get my perfectly adequate ass tight and high enough to shelf the Tiffany crystal champagne flutes I'd received as an engagement gift.
blackmailed enlisted a friend to join the local YMCA with me. This wonderful gal pal, Ms. Hurts Donut (named because it pained me that she could consume every pastry in sight and never pack on pounds) agreed because I knew a lot of shit about her and she didn't want to lose her job because she's super swell and supportive.
I was moderately fit at this time, as I ran regularly and knew my way around a bowl of cruciferous vegetables. Then I stepped into the gym and quickly realized just how fat the learning curve was going to be.
Mistake #1 I Made: I spanked a stranger. With a belt. Without first attaining permission.
There I was in the locker room, changing out of a just-from-the-office ensemble that included an over-sized belt, which, obviously, was more there for decoration than to keep my pants up.
As I unfastened said belt, the leather strap slipped from my hand, and a gunshot sound immediately followed.
When the belt had fallen from my fingertips, it had swung around and slapped some poor woman on her posterior.
Yes, it hit her bare butt.
She was changing out of a swimsuit, and my superfluous accessory smacked her wet badonkadonk.
In these moments, you have two choices: You own up to your mistake like a goddamned adult, or you pretend it never happened.
I opted for the latter, but then she turned around and looked at me like I had dressed up like a platypus and played the drums on her boobies. I had definitely not done that, so I figured I better get right with this chick, and quick.
"Omigod! I am so sorry. I didn't mean to spank you. Omigod! I am so sorry I just said spanked. Omigod! I'm sorry, OK? I'm just sorry."
She clutched her towel around her, grabbed her bag, and went and finished changing elsewhere, while Hurts Donut did the same thing, lest she be associated with the bitch who went around walloping random women.
Mistake #2 I made: I got tripped up by a hottie.
I had just finished a spin class, and while I'm not a medical expert, I can say with absolute certainty that I was dying from an inordinate amount of bullshit. They said it was just "one more hill," but they lied, and I believe that at the very least, these exercise instructors were facing manslaughter charges.
But to everyone's surprise, I didn't actually perish on my way to the water fountain...
... mostly because I was too busy sustaining a concussion.
As I was limping to get a drink, I noticed a man on a treadmill. He was running, and he looked damn good doing it. My eyeballs tracked the curve of his chest, the bump of his (totally spankable) buttocks, the glittery gleam of sweat across his manly brow.
What I didn't spy with my fat eyes was where the fuck I was going, and I fell flat on my face.
most sexy man to ever grace my fantasies completely average guy, who pales in comparison to my handsome husband, lurched to a stop. I remained on the ground a few seconds longer, thinking he had interrupted his run to help out the damsel in distress, but it turned out that he only paused in his run because I had tripped over the cord plugging in his treadmill, and I had yanked it out of the socket when I literally fell head over heels for the hot dude.
Mistake #3 I Made: I looked at the shirtless dude who signed my paycheck.
On the night I signed up for the YMCA, I received the introductory tour.
My guide woman shuffled me from room to room, and when we got to the gym, she used her naughtiest voice to tell me that I might like this room, since there were shirtless men running around.
I peeked in, expecting eye candy. Instead, I saw my boss sans shirt. Let's just say, that experience met the very definition of Not Suitable For Work (NSFW).
It was awful. And I sneered. And my boss totally saw my look of disgust. And while I won't swear to it, I really do think my next paycheck felt a little light.
Mistake #4 I Made: I didn't realize how good I had it when I had it.
Obviously, the "it" I'm discussing is the "it factor."
I was fucking hot, y'all.
Sure, I was self-conscious and awkward my introductory weeks at the gym. My first time swimming in the pool, I accidentally crossed into an older woman's lane and got the tongue-lasing of my life. A pregnant woman pedaled faster than me in my biking class. For three whole days, I could not walk up a flight of stairs.
But I fit into my dress.
Unfortunately, instead of being the confident bitch I am now, I was so self-conscious on my wedding day that I looked in the mirror and literally thought, "Is this good enough?"
I know I lured you into this blog post with a headline about me spanking strangers (which wasn't a lie, because I did do that, and I did write about it), but now I've tricked you into reading a small section about body positivism and self-confidence.
Here's the moral of my story: If you can spank a stranger and leave the gym not wearing handcuffs, then that's one way to win at life. But if you're really determined to spank something's ass, how about you wallop the shit out of doubt's derriere?
Unless you're a horrid person who does horrid things and thinks horrid thoughts, then you deserve to look at yourself in the mirror and be all like, "Oh, hell, yeah!"
And then you need to get busy sashaying around this planet with complete badittude, like you fucking own the joint, because you're absolutely dazzling regardless of whether or not you excel at spin class.
Go get it, y'all. Strut away.
True story: Life would be super swell if we all embraced our OMG side instead of living a Facebook-friendly existence. So, let it out. What's the worst thing you've done at the gym? How much do you hate me for acting like this was going to be a sexy and/or funny post and then throwing that shit on there about body positivism at the end? What do you say when you look in the mirror? What would you do if you saw YOUR boss shirtless? Feel free to disclose details. You're safe here.