She stepped quickly off that light grey scale—and looked at the flashing number again.  Could she really be reading that right?  No way had she gained 7 pounds in 3 weeks?  Honestly, who does that? That little App was meant to track and calculate every morsel.  Two points for a slice of toast.  Four points for a latte with sugar.  Seven points for a small slice.  It was brutal, but the reality was worse. 

No longer a sexy size 6, but rather a curvy size 14.  It wasn’t the end of the world, but it certainly was nearing the end of her “till death do us part”.  “When I married you, you were hot,” he boasted.  How come all of your friends are back in their skinny jeans?” 

Man, you just can’t make that sort of thing up.  Was he the problem? The hold back? The second slice of cake? The secretive TWIX bar in the car?  Probably, but sometimes you have to man up and take responsibility.

So busy she was kept.  Two small children.  The lovely home. The business.  The emails. 

Life was occupied and lonely all at once.

If she jumped back to 2001, she was happy, engaged in graduate school and the picture of happiness.  Sort of.  Four months earlier, she’d left her West Village walk up and opted for a share of a condo in Toronto.  It was a big move, but there was the promise of a graduate degree at the end of the two-year term.  On paper it was better than waitressing in a new city, and so she dove in headfirst.  Heart last. 

School was a struggle.  Calculators, spreadsheets, nerds galore.  Clearly she didn’t fit in with the rest of them.  Lola was what she was nicknamed, because after all, “whatever LOLA wants, LOLA gets’.  The name was appropriate and she lived up to it.  No male teacher could turn her away, or even give her a bad mark.

  It was still a grind.  A $50,000 grind.  Stats class made her queasy, economics gave her the chills and it was accounting that could actually make her hurl. 

With God’s grace and a lot of tears, she received the degree in June and walked down the aisle two weeks later.  A radiant bride complete with cathedral veil and fairytale wedding.  It was a dream.  Not her dream, but a dream nonetheless…

Her ex made a bet that she’d be miserable within 7 years.  She wasn’t so sure.  Frankly, she may have been miserable already.  But the music played on, and so did she.

The honeymoon was over the top.  Luxury, extravagance and whatever else came with a new marriage.  Turquoise string bikinis, cut off shorts, and very long nights. 

Back in the city, life kept going.  Work was fulfilling and time consuming.  The paycheck was better than a kick in the head.  Hours were long, but appreciated.  Anything was better than coming home.  Home was boring and unbearable.  At least at work there was a laugh or two to be had?

Trips back and forth to NYC helped ease the monotony of married life.  All her married friends were bored, right? Face book was good for a smile or two every night.  Funny how face book helped solidify the fact that life in the past was sweet.  Sure there were countless photos of the wedding, but that didn’t hold a candle to the prom pix and party pictures of years past.  Guys were constantly coming out of the woodwork, and it was always the same.  How are you? What are you up to? You married? You happy?  Do you want to text me?  It was easy.  It was fun.  Satisfying? Not usually.  It was all good clean fun, but it was not all that fulfilling.  Seemed nothing ever was, save for the pizza and fries.

[1]

In all honesty, he was a good guy.  Actually the best guy she’d ever meet. Smart, successful, handsome enough.  He wasn’t exceptionally fun or warm, but he was solid.  Thin and solid.  She was everything he wasn’t.  Funny, warm, loving, and a heck of a lot of fun.  He needed her for the contact buzz just as she chose him for the stability in life. 

Three months after a sweet trip to NYC and a weekend stay at the PALACE, she found out she was pregnant.  What a dream.  The answer to her questions.  Finally she knew she’d be whole.   They were actually thrilled.

---

[1] Unexpected pressure

Did that guy seriously just text me about “spillage”? And to what was he referring?  So very sadly, this lovely 29-year old man was referring to the current state of my breasts.  Or rather the lumps that used to be part of my breasts and now merely fall out the top of ill-fitting lingerie.  Still, did he really just write that to me?  Did he notice? What did he see? Okay, I’m mortified.  Actually, beyond mortified.  But I’m not smart enough to know what that adjective is.  When I questioned him about this hideous term, he explained it.  Yes, that horrible bulge that comes out from your boobs.  You know, the part you have to struggle to keep in your lacy bra.  Or any bra.  Shoot me.  Dead.  Please and fast.  Thank you.

So we’ve been together about 9 days now.  Nine hot, sticky and quite painful days.  We meet in the early mornings in his small and dark second floor space.  Strangely he always burns a sweet vanilla candle.  Was that supposed to be a romantic gesture or just plain cover the stench? His lighting is pretty dark, but I’m sure that’s intentional.  His walls are filled with mirrors.  Pretty kinky kid… And then, he has all of these soft and squishy mats on the ground.  Those are kind of nice.  Sometimes, after a particularly grueling session, I want to crawl in a ball and sleep on those said mats.  But he doesn’t give me time.  Ever.  Drives me mental.  Or more.  When I look around, I see things I don’t like.  There’s that long and twisted rope in the corner that scares me silly.  He has that super weird contraption that keeps you head down with legs attached to moving parts.  I’ve seen the mirror image and it’s not pretty.  What’s worse than spillage?  Oh dear.  Shoot me again. I’m starting to see a theme here.  And the music plays on.  Like it always does.  And usually it’s my favorite song.  And then my other favorite song.  Until it’s a song I can’t stand.  He doesn’t care.  At all!  Jerk.  My hair just went super curly and I’m pissed.   But like I said, the guy doesn’t really care.  Is he too young to be a sadist? I’m starting to wonder.  All I know is I just wasted a perfectly good blow-dry.

Like an idiot, today I requested inner thighs.  What was I thinking?  I was thinking that in 16 days I’m going to have to be on a beach.  In the Bahamas.  With him and 120 other friends from Toronto.  Okay, you know the drill.  Shoot me.  Please.  Or just carry on.

So there are muscles in your inner thighs that you never knew you had.  And why would you?  I’m pretty sure you’d never need them.  Well, now that I know about these little muscles, I can’t move them.  Actually, come to think of it, I can’t move my legs at all tonight.  My bum is worse.  The burning is insane.  But strangely, I asked for it and I like it.  What does that make me? Tonight he promised me that I’d be hot by July.  That’s six months to hit a goal.  I guess he’s not too thrilled with what he sees in January?  But I digress.

So I met this young Adonis last Saturday at an engagement party.  He was easily the best looking guy in the room.  Maybe the best looking guy I’ve seen in a long time.  We were introduced by what I thought were mutual friends.  That was until these two short girls starting rambling on about how hot I USED to be.  Before I had kids.  “Seven years ago she was amazing”, they squaked.   Her stomach was so tight and flat.  She could rock a pair of jeans.  Clearly they didn’t realize that I was standing there and the tears were on the way down.  When I finally did come to, I said, yes, I did gain 75 pounds twice with my kids.  All the fat is in my stomach.  Who says that in front of a super cute young guy?  Who says that ever?  Next thing I know, without warning, this guy reaches over and rubs my Buddah belly.  I didn’t even have a chance to suck it in.   Okay, now we’re not kidding around. SHOOT me this moment.  I won’t even bother with the formalities.

So after I recovered from the harmless grope, I learned this man was a super star trainer in the city.  He promised me that I’d be so hot in July that people would climb over chairs to be near me.  I definitely didn’t require this level of attention, but perhaps he was on to something.  This stranger seemed to have faith in me and his positive energy inspired me.  So I sucked in my gut and gave him my number.  Secretly I was hoping he wanted to be my 29 year old boyfriend.  But seriously I was stoked for a life change. 

And so now we meet at all hours of the day.  He pushes me past limits I never even thought about.  Our conversation is fun and easy.  The hour flies by and sometimes I feel I could stay longer.  He believes in me and therefore each day I’m learning to believe in myself.  I know that,  and a dollar will get me a ride on the subway…

 So today was just a quickie.  It was a ½ hour, in and out, and now I’m neausis.  Hard to believe that something so short lived could have such consequences.   I felt sore before I was out of eye-shot.  I was finished with him by 9;30 and his next victim was already waiting.  I sort of hate when I have to see his others… This one’s not too pretty, so it surely softens the blow.  She takes too long to undress and get ready, and for some reason she insists on chatting with me.  I really wish she’d stop.

After I left him I had to run around the city.  You know, all the glamorous stuff.  I needed to buy sweat pants for my skinny 7 year old, grocery shop for my family and my friend’s.  Buy summer shoes that were on sale for the kids.  And then came the moment of reckoning.  Some form of a bathing suit was needed for the Bahamas event.  Yes, I did already own bathing suits.  No, I didn’t much want to be seen in them.  I walked right into a specialty swim suit shop and within 10 minutes I walked out with a sweet suit, a sexy cover-up and a purple hat.  Pretty good timing, I’d say. All things considered. 

Then it happened.  I did something bad. Very bad.  And now, Joshua, I feel guilty.  My husband had ordered pizza for the workers and the smell in my house was intoxicating.  Cheese.  Sauce.  And a yummy crust that was most definitely not gluten free.  So I ate a piece and now I feel sick.  And sad.  And really guilty.  Bummed that I undid  my work from today.  And probably from earlier in the week too.  But I’ll get over it.  Hopefully he’ll forgive me.  And next time I’ll pass it up for sure.

On that nutrition note, last night I listened as this young trainer ordered his dinner from a local sushi joint.  At the time, I felt like I should have been taking notes.   Actually he instructed me to do so.  Listening to his careful instructions, I realized you just can”t buy this sort of knowledge. And I’ll be so kind as to share with y’all.

On the positive side, this guy was so patient and gentle with the person on the other line.  I would have been so annoyed, I probably would have hung up on this incompetence.   Two points for the buff trainer.

Vegetable soup with soba (glutten free!!!) noodles.  Hold the tempura!

2 salmon hand rolls, NO rice.

One order of  boiled spinach, NO rice.  I think this is called Ohitashi

Seaweed salad, where NO rice is a given.

Mushrooms of some sort.

There was a definite theme to his order, NO RICE.  Yup, I got it.  Funny enough, as he placed his order he nibbled on raw green beans.  PLAIN, raw green beans.  Yeah, note to self.  This is how to get hot.  Ok, I’m down with that.  I promise.