A little less than two months from now, in mid-July, I'll be in Michigan. I'm heading out for my grandmother's surprise 80th birthday party, and to finally try to go through all the stuff I abandoned at my parents' house after college on account of it not fitting in my car. When I was there last year I managed to spend an hour poking through some of the boxes, and MAN, am I ever in for a "blast from my past" kind of treat. Ha ha ha ha. Ha.
The beau and I don't argue very often. But lately, when we do, it's been about photographs.
Specifically, how I hate any photograph of me ever taken. And how he's a dick for insisting that he wants to keep the photographs he takes of me, like a total dick would.
This particular series of arguments began in earnest several months ago, when my boss asked me for a picture of me for the company profile. I took a mental survey of the handful of known photographs of myself that I actually like and quickly ruled them all out since they all involved me either 1) wearing a wedding dress or 2) grasping an adult beverage in one hand while groping a friend with the other.
Last week, just one day after Jessica Simpson finally had her baby, I came across an internet article about her "post-baby weight loss plan."
One. Day. Afterward.
This shouldn't be a surprise. I shouldn't have been remotely surprised.
But I was, because how ridiculous is this? Why is losing weight immediately after childbirth glorified? Why is it held up as a shining standard when, in truth, an average woman lacks the time and interest in getting back up on the treadmill after popping out a kid? Not to mention that a woman who's just been through a physically and emotionally traumatic event needs plenty of time to heal before attempting diet and exercise?
Having been a child raised on packets of Hamburger Helper, boxes of Jiffy muffins, and canned green beans, it took a long time to be exposed to foods in their... you know... natural states.
It wasn't until I moved back to California in my mid-20s that I first experienced avocado in its natural state. The very first time I got one, I sliced it into thin strips and ate them with scrambled eggs and coffee as a spur-of-the-moment Saturday brunch. Every bite was a revelation; a delight. From that day forward, I was utterly smitten. Now I regularly carve one in half and chop it up to toss on top of dinner or lunch, or simply spoon scoops of it into my mouth as a snack.