Let Them Eat Cake

Since it's all the rage right now, I think I will show you a before and after picture...of the chocolate Easter bunny I just annihilated.

 

Or perhaps a before and after picture of my food baby belly? I swear to you I can go from flat stomach to six months pregnant in three minutes flat.  It's quite impressive.

Readers mustn't worry; I have no intentions of displaying bikini-clad side by sides on the internet anytime soon. No need for the social networking realm to see the outline of my afternoon pizza party. 

I thought New Year's resolutions were only supposed to last until the end of January? It's like everyone's drinking the Kool Aid (or in this case, the powdered diet shakes).

Now I don't mean to be a hypocrite; I quite regularly imbibe on these diet regimens as well. How else could I possibly stay at a reasonable weight and still be a VIP at Pizza Hut? My monthly diet is as follows: one week of hunger and famine followed by a week of over-indulgence and pure happiness. Repeat.

I don't need your tweets or your public fitness diary to inform me how unhealthy I am. I am an educated adult.  I know that 24 inch chocolate statues are not good for the body (though I will argue they are amazing for the soul). I know the proper steps to a bikini-ready body include exercise and calorie control, just as I know that too many cheese fries give me a stomach ache. I know that vegetables are nutrient and vitamin rich, yet I also know that milkshakes bring all the boys to the yard.

This is a public plea to stop body-shaming the rest of us. We are so very proud of your flab to fab tummy, and we think it's great your cholesterol is finally in check, but to put this frankly: we don't give a rat's derrière if your pants fit better. Flaunt it on the streets, but please stop congesting my newsfeed.  I'd much rather get back to the ugly babies and sloth memes.

If you lost ten pounds, then be proud of yourself.  If you shook your toned booty to three hours of workout videos, give yourself a pat on the back.  And if you ate a life-size chocolate bunny, then let's be friends. 

Capturing Nonsense

The walls at Craig's house make me very sad.  So do his pistachio green couches. Most bachelor pads, for that matter, need some life breathed into them.  Thanks to my sister, Craig's fiancé, his home is finally getting her feminine, overbearing touch. Kelli called the other night to request a file of photos from me.  In that file, she wants images of me, Amelia, and Matt so she can frame and hang them on Craig's empty walls.  While I'm quite honored to have a living memorial erected at the home of my future brother-in-law, I'm also a bit skeptical about coming through on my sister's request.

For reasons either physical, intentional, or psychological, my husband cannot take a decent photo.  Like the boy who dances to his own drum, it's as if he's smiling at a different camera lens...




example a (ridiculous, I know)


 example b

 

 

Please don't think me cruel.  My husband is very aware of his inability to produce frame-worthy photos.  For this reason (and also because I'm insanely vain), there are mostly only fabulous portraits of yours truly in the house. 

 

On occasion, I can successfully capture an image of Matt where his eyes are looking the correct direction, but then it seems his mouth malfunctions. 

 

 

See what I mean? 

 

 

 

For someone who practices selfies in the mirror (along with an awesome Jamaican accent), it's imperative to remedy this situation in order to uphold our family honor.  In case Matt was just trying to irritate me, I figured a professional photographer could be the antidote.  Surely, he would be on best behavior if we were coughing up cold, hard, cash. Folks, I had high, high hopes for this.

 

Then he subtly snuck out the tongue.

 

I've now accepted there's nothing to be done about my non-photogenic husband.  I continue to snap his picture for the rare occasion when I actually capture a keepsake photo.  Sadly, through all this snapping away, I have discovered a horrible, tragic truth.  My daughter, as well, has inherited his condition. 

 

 

 

 

I sent a whopping three photographs to my sister to frame.  It looks as though there will be no memorial erected in our honor; no real contribution to Craig's desolate walls.  Since it's not often someone asks for a picture of us to go on their wall, I asked Matt one last time to give me his best effort.  On the count of three....