My husband's fabulous sister recently announced
her engagement. As the only girl from a family of seven children,
she is pretty much the exact opposite of me. She's relaxed,
low-drama, and never ever holds a grudge. In contrast, I'm still
quite angry with the checkout girl from Target who wouldn't take my
deodorant coupon last month…Damn you, Judy. Damn you.
Mary attends hundreds of sporting and school events for her
zillion nieces and nephews each year. She phones everybody on their
birthdays. She organizes the family's participation in the Mother's
Day Breast Cancer walk to honor her late mom. She brings fantastic
meatballs and veggie sandwiches to every family gathering. She is
loyal to a fault.
We might as well call her Jesus. Or Tim Tebow.
Mary's entire family is beyond excited over her news. There
hasn't been a ridiculously large Walsh wedding in years, and
everybody is looking forward to the big event.
Yet as talk of venues and dresses takes hold, my big issue
bubbles to the surface:
That's right. I'm going to make this about me. If Mary is Jesus,
then I am Beelzebub - self-absorbed and a little bit evil. I don't
want to go to another family party where my butt knocks over small
children. I have a dream that I will one day wear a single-digit
dress. I'm sick of my back fat. And when I stop walking, I just
wish those loose bits would stop moving as well.
I spoke with Mary last night. She shared how she's getting all
fit and embracing vegetables. She told me this while I sat there
eating banana bread with extra butter. She reminded me of my plans
to join Weight Watchers this year. She prodded only a teensy weensy
bit (which is a rare thing for Mary, but she knows I'm pretty
unhappy with my chub).
So I'm going to do it. Weight Watchers will have a new
participant starting today. I hate vegetables. And fruit. And
anything without chocolate on it. But I'm going to give this the
good college try. I'll lie and try to convince everybody I'm doing
this to get "healthy," but we all know I'm just trying to avoid
having to buy two airline tickets for my butt next time we fly.
So if you see me with a Ding-Dong, please feel free to knock it
right out of my stubby little fingers. Give me a dirty look. Call
my sponsor (I'm not sure if Weight Watchers even has
sponsors, but it seems like they should).
Thank you for the incentive, Mary, and congratulations! You
really are the best sister-in-law a girl could ask for.
Oh, and if you wouldn't mind babysitting for us next weekend,
that would be great. We'll be home before midnight. I swear. 2 am
Marianne is mother of three sons and the wife of a southside Irish fireman. She has learned that sometimes you're just too dumb to know what makes you happy. She blogs regularly at We Band of Mothers (webandofmothers.com) and curses with even greater frequency. Her material is written for the imperfect, the imprudent, and the impatient mothers who know that all this stuff is really very funny if you just give it a minute.
See more of Marianne's stories here.
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