Gross But True

(Warning, this may not be for the faint of constitution.)

My skin is too big.

Well, not all of my skin. But certain parts. And it's pretty gross.

I keep hoping that over time it will snap back. Or shrink. Or suck up. Or something. So far, no luck.

I'm not exactly sure what to do about it, either. Part of me thinks that if I got on some kick-ass weight lifting program and built some nice muscles, that would take care of some of it. Part of me thinks that an information-gathering-trip-to-a-plastic-surgeon-slash-discussion-with-insurance-to see-how-impossible-that-is is the only way to go.

It pisses me off that I let it get so far before I did something about it. And now I have to live with the consequences.

My thighs and upper arms are the grossest. I'm torn between laughing and crying as I cardio box with Wii and hear my wing flaps slapping against my torso. (The noise is funny. The reality, not so much.) Every morning when I stretch before walking, I tug up on my wrinkly, dimply thighs to see what they'd look like all tight and smooth.

What a crappy deal.

We're planning on a Caribbean vaca some time in the next few months. While I'd really be comfortable enough to throw on a bikini (only in front of total strangers, mind you), I just can't imagine showing this weird sack of loose goo to an unsuspecting public.

Of course the cold, hard truth is that I can't even begin to think about doing anything until I've kept the weight off for a year or so ... just to make sure the new me is going to stick.

But I can't help but wondering what I'd weigh if I could just cut it all off. That's sort of creepy, too, isn't it?