Frump Factor
My dad surprised us with a six-month membership gift certificate to our new YMCA this weekend. We were going to rejoin this fall, but he knows how much Miss C enjoys the kiddie pool as he’s taken her a couple of times and with it being 100 plus degrees hotter than hell on overdrive here nearly every day he wanted us to go ahead and enjoy a family membership. My dad has taken to heading down to the Y early every day for a walk and his morning coffee. Being quite the ladies man at 73 he already knows all the young women who work the front desk. Yep, that’s my daddy.
We headed to the indoor pool on Saturday and I was spotting Miss A as she zipped down the killer whale slide 8 million times in a row. I started chatting with another mom with an adorable 2-year-old little girl and then the mom stood up and literally towered above me (not hard to do as I am a little under 5 ft. 2.) She was tall, tan, toned, and wearing an aqua string bikini. I am short, white, constantly reminding myself to suck in my stomach, and I was wearing my blue mom tankini. I actually thought to myself, “God please let her be younger than me, MUCH younger.” I haven’t had a stomach as taut as hers since I was 21.
Suddenly I had an unattractive vision of me in a few years…short and dumpy and white and taking water ballet classes in a one piece suit with extra support and a full-coverage skirt. Fitness karma was paying me a visit. When you’re just two years shy of turning 40 you can’t go two years without hitting the gym regularly and expect the frump fairy to not hover around your thighs and taunt you with your kids’ lunch size bags of chips.
I decided then and there to kick the frump fairy’s booty before I turn 40.
But first I had to go home and eat just one small bag of Doritos because the PMS Fairy is also in town and when she and Frump Fairy party they give me unbelievable salt cravings.
