Wedding Day Jitters and My Butt

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:

My butt.

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 tops.

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