The Dress

Personal

This past weekend, while shopping for a new dress for a special occasion, I dragged JD to South Coast Plaza for a little retail therapy. Toward the end of a long afternoon, I promised him I was almost finished. I just had ONE MORE DRESS to try on. He blinked so many times I thought he was trying to Morse Code distress messages, but I conveniently ignored his pleas and ventured into the dressing room. I reappeared in the dress and JD gave a thumbs-up from afar.

Then it was my turn for blinking Morse Code.

RED ALERT…the…dress…won’t…zip.

JD walked over to the dressing room and after a few moments of hoping, wishing, and suck-it-in-and-don’t-breathe-ing, it finally zipped. It appears I have some work to do in the weight department, especially if I want to oh, say, BREATHE in the dress when it’s time to wear it.

For the next two weeks, I’m going to stay away from sugar and try to eat right. This is after a weekend of eating tablespoons of sugar, guzzling a vat of lard, and pounding loaves of Wonder Bread. But this week marks a new start.

Just yesterday, as I left for a shoot, JD packed a bag of Reduced Fat Cheeze-Its and proffered it as I loaded my car. I looked at him in shock…and fear. Shock that he’d tempt me, and Fear that I’d actually take them. So I did what my good Christian mother told me to do whenever I was tempted. I turned to him and looked squarely at the Ziplock bag in his hands and said, Get behind me, Satan. JD just rolled his eyes and tossed the bag in the car.

After the shoot, I sent JD the following text message: Dear Satan, I ate the crackers. Now you owe me liposuction.

So, here’s to hoping for more will power. Or learning how to hold my breath for a few hours.