Tuesday, September 18, 2007

No actual caterpillars were harmed in the making of this column.

When I was in my 20’s, I weighed four pounds. If I ate something huge, like a whole apple, I still only weighed four pounds but I had a noticeable pooch…sort of like one of those snakes that can swallow a whole pig. You could actually follow the lump as it moved through my digestive system.

Even though I sounded like I came from North Carolina, I looked like I had been rescued from Ethiopia. (By a man who was way too old for me and just every bit as loving as a pig-swallowing snake.)

When I got pregnant with my daughter, I weighed a whopping 103 pounds and was absolutely convinced I was the world’s fattest pregnant woman. That probably had something to do with constantly being told I was the world’s fattest pregnant woman.

Little known fact: pig-swallowing snakes can talk.

Now into my forties, I am convinced I am the fattest non-pregnant woman alive. I often dream of the day I get a phone call that I’ve won a liposuction contest that I forgot I entered at the mall. I’d love to go into the hospital looking like me and come out looking as if I don’t eat something post haste, I’m going to pass smooth out. Just once I’d like to have someone tell me I look hungry.

At this age though losing weight is teetering a fine line. Lose just one pound too much and your skin looks all loose and crinkly. Nothing creeps me out more than somebody’s loose and crinkly skin flapping in the breeze.

Things that flap should always be covered when in public. That’s why I demand Mr. Man wear underwear.

It isn’t just my weight that bothers me. It’s my old lady face. It once looked like a piece of smooth porcelain. Now it’s more like a piece of unpolished marble. As a particularly nasty allergy season has settled upon the Midwest, my beauty has only been enhanced by my flaming red & scabby nose and my insanely puffy, blood shot eyes.

I look as if I’ve been in an actual fist fight with someone who is much better at it than I am. (Which could be anybody because I hit like a girl.)

The other morning in an effort to distract the eye of the beholder away from my enormous Rudolph nose, I actually put on false eyelashes. First of all, I may not have many good things going for me, but I do actually have my own eyelashes so I didn’t really need tiny eye wigs.

And second of all, women who have to wear extremely strong glasses to see their own face have no business trying to put glue on something they will stick on their eyes. I can’t even see to tie my own shoes without glasses any more. Before I was finished, I had plastered long, black eyelashes all over my face. I looked like I seriously needed to be waxed by a very aggressive Russian woman.

I’m happy to report however that when I finally got them on my actual eyes, they did serve as the distraction I’d wanted.

No one noticed my nose, but some mentioned perhaps my eyes were so red because I had a serious allergic reaction brought on by wearing caterpillars on my eyeballs. Oh and one lady offered me her tweezers because apparently I’d missed a stray glued on hair that was blowing in the breeze just above my lip.

If when God created women he decided in his ultimate wisdom that when we enter mid-life we should look more and more like somebody’s Grandmother with each passing day, then I suppose I could suck it up and live with it. But, I really think it should have been at least equal among the sexes.

I mean come on. Men typically grow more handsome as they get older. The salt and pepper hair, the distinguished lines in their faces, the additional digits in their checking account balance. It’s not fair!

You never hear a man softly crying in the bathroom every morning as he applies spackle and KILZ to his face before going to work. You never see a man saying no to cheesecake because he knows what cheesecake looks like on his ass. And I am absolutely certain that the reason Lee doesn’t make press on beards is because no man would be caught dead super- gluing fake hair to his face.

Or would they? Dibs on the press on beard patent.

Copyright © 2004-2007, Sherri Bailey
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Jami said...

I seriously needed to be waxed by a very aggressive Russian woman.

If you find one, let me know cuz there's a guy at my office that would probably pay for the information.

And speaking of waxing, you HAVE to read this: http://mariemillard.blogspot.com/2007/09/ebay-or-craigslist.html
But don't be drinking anything when you do. You've been warned.

And I do a bit about the Lee Press-on Breast™ for crossdressers.

Leeuna said...

Oh Lordy, Sher, this one had me rolling on the floor. What's more, I can identify with most of it!? I've lost over 60 pounds in the past year or so and I sometimes feel like I resemble a wadded up paper bag.

Thanks for the laugh. I always leave your blog with a smile on my face...unless you haven't posted... then I'm disappointed. :-)


Sher said...


OMG! That post was insane. Everybody should dart over there and read it.

Lee Press On Breasts for crossdressers? Take off the word crossdressers and you've doubled your market, Little Missy. I for one am a potential customer.

I'm sure you do not look like a wadded up paper bag. 60 Pounds??? Wow! Do tell how you did it! All I can see in my head right now is an old sketch Jim Carrey did a long time ago called Ride the Snake. Had to be there.

dawn224 said...

Hilarious. Now I'm going to tell you something my mom did - not because you are old enough to be my mom (you aren't), but because it's something I would have done.

She was trying to use super glue to repair a split fingernail. The tip of the glue had a glue ball on it. She popped the glue ball off ... as she was simultaneously pressing the tube.

Super glue shot in her mouth and she starting intentionally drooling as much as possible to keep her tongue from sticking to her teeth.

Yes. The things we do for beauty... or at least to keep away the scary.

Nancy said...

Sher, I have only seen that photo of you posted over there <---- on the side, but you are beautiful!


At 52, I've decided that I have earned the right to display my crows feet, each (when undyed) grey hair represents survival of the teen years, and my flibbles that jibble are easier to cover in clothing, smaller sizes at that ... than hide the fat rolls I had 40 pounds ago.

Don't be so hard on yourself... besides, you have a beautiful heart!

Jami: Thanks for the plug, lol

Bunny Bunster said...

Small injections of Botox really do help with the forehead furrow!!! Or so I've been told. I wouldn't actually know that for a fact. No sirree! Not me!

And? Mick Jagger never heard you say that old saggy skin needs to keep covered. I'm still squigged out by his SuperBowl performance a few years ago with the saggy arm skin. Yuck! Mick, long sleeves, LONG SLEEVES!!!

Flutterby said...

*sniffle sniffle* My comments always get lost over here... or I pissed someone off without realizing it. sigh. I was offering you fudge and cake. With frosting. Cause you sure look like you are awfully hungry-like skinny.

Grundir the Implacable said...

People tell me I look hungry, but I don't think they mean it in a good way.

Linda and her Surroundings said...

When I was twenty I was told that after the age of forty to always have sex lying on your back as it kept ones face looking smooth. Ha ha ha I said. Not saying ha ha ha now I am over forty.

Sher said...

I have had some horrible experiences with Super Glue so I totally get that. (PS: I am not old enough to be anyone's Mom.)

You should have your own line of greeting cards. STFU would be the perfect sentiment for everything from "sorry your cat died" to "sorry to hear you're getting married".

Mick Jagger looked old and creepy when he was 25. He now looks like he should stuff an air hose up his behind to fill up the crinkles and crevices.

That is the nicest thing anyone has said to me in at least 48 hours.

Why sure they do!

Yet another good reason for me to just lay there. ;-)