Writing my blog exposes where I am in my psychological evolution on any given day.
And writing at the speed of sound isn’t wise. But it’s the paradigm we, as bloggers, are given. For instance I wrote all about deciding not to lose weight. I did a heartfelt video on loving your body now. I thought I’d permanently defeated the pervasive skullduggery of advertising’s war against women.
Then I was sitting in my dermatologist’s office for a skin thing when she noticed I carry all my fat in my belly. She said, “You carry all your fat in your belly.”
My cheeks flushed red. I wasn’t wrong, someone did notice my tummy. Then she mentioned I’d be a perfect candidate for cool sculpting, which, in laymen’s terms, is fat freezing. (No one is paying me to write this.)
Before I knew it, my little tummy became the focus for all my extra-curricular attention. When I wasn’t mulling all of the great issues of the day — Hurricane Sandy, the election, the possibility of getting a flesh-eating virus while ziplining through the jungles of Costa Rica – which I have no plans to do, but you never know — I was pondering my tummy.
I asked my tummy, “Why must you take all of my fat? Can’t you spread it around more evenly, like, maybe, more boobs?”
My tummy did not reply.
She simply lounged zaftig-ly on her velvet divan (my pubic mound) and absorbed all the chocolate I’d allowed past my lips.
Cut to: Me — like an incarcerated former beauty queen, turned grifter — pinioned to a reclining chair at the dermatologist’s office with a massive vacuum sucking device clamped around my tummy.
It. Freaking. Hurt. Ouch!!
It was like that scene in Prometheus (an admittedly bad film) where the oddly cheek-boned Noomi Rapace gives herself a cesarean with a machine to get the gestating alien out of her womb. I apologized to my tummy for accosting it in such an undignified way. But my vanity won out. What if this Cool-sculpting fat freezing thing works??
I’m almost three weeks out from having my tummy fat frozen and it looks exactly the same. Also, I can’t stop eating. I’m not sure what the psychology is behind this, except to say perhaps my tummy has organized a coup d’ etat with my ass and thighs and is borrowing their fat cells as hers die off, causing me to be extra hungry.
On a more serious note. Side effects. Extreme emotionality after the fat freezing.
I was a wreck, tearful, and fraught with self-recrimination. Then two days later my tummy hurt like a gutshot Confederate soldier. Instead of screaming, “Save my tummy, save my tummmyyyyy!” I was screaming, “Just cut it off. For the love of God, Doc, cut it off!”
So as you can see, I’m a hero with clay feet. Still trying to assess the difference between beauty maintenance and beauty baloney. It’s a fine line I walk, ladies and gents. But, I’m happy to share it with you.