The Indian Warrior & The Muffin Top


Last night I went out to dinner and decided I would wear the pre-worn ( but relatively new) paige jeans I just got on ebay.

As I squirmed into the jeans I sighed heavily when i got to the part where you’re spose to be able to zip them. I sucked it big time so that the zipper could make it’s long sojourn up to the top  … where the button is sposed to do it’s #1 function:  button.  It was at this time that I realized that the difficulty must be that these jeans were “high waisted”  and, lemme tell you, it’s been a while since i’ve worn a pair of those armpit grazing blues.  *sh*t. I didn’t even realize that cool jean companies are even allowed to make high waisted jeans anymore- did I miss the memo? Are Paige like the new mommy jeans? So not cool.

Once I got my tunic shirt on i noticed that the unsightly bulge around my middle was at least a little less obvious.  The gelatinous consistency of my child bearing belly was carefully concealed by the higher tides of my new waistline. I’ve exercised periodically and I am currently giving Pilates a good run in order to firm up my “core” ( core? where is that? )  but I’ve resigned myself to the fact that my middle is kind of like the elastic on an old pair of grannie panties- S.H.O.T.

As I sat down to dinner (I use that term lightly) I realized that I could not quite “bend” at the middle and that i was wildly uncomfortable. My gut protested-  understandably,  it had no where to go and was like a caged version of the blob- unable to be contained.

I pretended to adjust the napkin on my lap and as I tried to distract the Goodbar’s attention I managed to undo the button of my discontent. The young bartender and I traded a knowing glance, and I felt confident that we also passed an understanding until I took some time to check her out more carefully. How could she possibly understand my torture? She was maybe in her late 20’s or early 30’s- was that a smirk on her face? Damn her- she’d have her day. I wandered the bar area with my eyes- trying to find an ally, but I was on my own.  What kind of dinner place was this anyway ? Was this a no muffin tops allowed establishment?  I am still hip – I can pass can’t I?  omg- these girls are all college age- what am i doing here?

Getting home and getting out of my new used jeans was a huge relief.  I felt like I was peeling off an unfair jail sentence. My belly felt free- free at last!

I’m returning these F*ing jeans and if they don’t take returns I will burn them. I will burn them as I dance around the fire as I give homage to the muffin top gods. I am healthy, I am strong, and I am a wanna be indian princess warrior with a fruit bearing womb who does not care.  I am thick in the middle:  hear me roar.

The meal was terrible. I hate that restaurant.  I am never going there again.

I have nothing more to share.

Goodnight.

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11 thoughts on “The Indian Warrior & The Muffin Top

  1. You are so entertaining Monica!

    You had me smiling the whole way through.

    And who the heck can’t relate to this post???

    If you can’t return them, and decide not to burn them, you can always repost them on Ebay!

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